LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



UN '^t 



Cypress Leaves; 



(IN MEMORIAM.) 



And Other Poe 



MS. 



DEDICATED TO Pv<LY ^A^IEE. 




Dr. T. J. PKARCK, 



Author of " Holland Bane." 



\ 



^^i^K^.-. 



X*^ ^ 



^c^v 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year eighteen hundred and 

eighty-seven, by Dr. T. J. Pkarce, in the office of the 

Librarian of Coggress, at Washington, D.C. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 



One beautiful morning in August, 1885, feeling 
nervous and exhausted by the long and constant strain 
of professional duties, I had resolved to take my wife 
and little May for a day's recreation to the waters of 
Lake Minnetonka. The day proved to be one of the 
most lovely of Minnesota's many lovely days. Per- 
haps our mental exhilaration and contentment had 
much to do with making the weather appear ex- 
ceptionally fair ; for foul weather may seem fair to 
a happy and contented heart, and a day spent in 
recreation is a day well sjient, no matter what day of 
the week or at what sacrifice. It would be superflu- 
ous to add that the air was balmy and the skies were 
blue — as if they could be anything else in a land of 
almost perpetual sunshine ! Can the beauteous Co- 
lumbia boast of a fairer offspring than the State which 
we inhabit ? Do the skirts of the Goddess of Lib- 
erty trail over fairer landscapes than are to be found 
in Minnesota ? Where will one find airs more balmy, 
skies more blue, sunshine more soft and mellow, more 
fragrant flowers and singing birds, more green fields, 
more glassy and isle-begemmed lakes than in the North 



CTPEESS LEAVES. 



Star State during the summer months ? When Dame 
Nature had resolved to make another paradise which 
should forever be the abode of a free and happy 
people, with pencil and palette in hand she began 
at the Gulf of Mexico. Proceeding northward with 
the majesty of a queen and the sapient eye of a god- 
dess, by the touch of her magic pencil she formed 
broad plains, immense forests, towering mountains, 
frightful gorges, majestic rivers, rushing waterfalls, 
and inland seas ; then with one tortuous sweep of 
her pencil from south to north she formed the Mis- 
sissippi, and stuck a diamond point at its source, and 
called it Itaska. Having some dust of gold, emerald, 
and diamond left, she dashed it with careless and lav- 
ish hand around the point where she had let her 
pencil drop, and lo ! the gold was trOiHsformed into 
fields of waving grain, the emerald expanded into im- 
mense forests and meadows, and the diamond spark- 
led in a thousand crystal lakes. But I digress. To 
return to my subject : we took the early train from 
St. Paul. As it i^ulied into Minneapolis we found 
hundreds of people of all ages waiting at the sta- 
tion, and soon the coaches were crowded and every 
seat taken. 

While our attention was attracted by the crowd 
outside, a gentleman, lady, and child had entered the 
car and taken the vacant seat directly in front of ours. 
There was nothing unusual in the appearance of our 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 



neighbors to attract attention, save that which would 
suggest some recent great bereavement. They both 
wore heavy mourning, and the traces of recent grief 
were still visible on their sad countenances. He was, 
doubtless, a man of about thirty-five years, though the 
sprinkling of silver in his hair would indicate him to 
be somewhat older. They wore very little jewelry, 
but my wife quietly observed that it was of the best 
quality. Their attire was plain but costly. Their 
child, a blue-eyed little girl Avith brown hair, seemed 
to be about five years old. There was something in- 
expressibly sweet about the face of the child. Her 
quick movements, bright eyes, constant smile, and 
incessant chatter contrasted greatly with the quiet 
demeanor of her parents. We could not fail to ob- 
serve how very tenderly they fondled the little crea- 
ture as she moved from the breast of one to the arms 
of the other. We noticed how every smile was recip- 
rocated by her parents, and how patiently they 
answered all her childish questions. The train sped 
along with great rapidity after leaving Minneapolis, 
until the brakeman's call of Wayzata and the loud 
cry of steam whistles told us that we had reached 
the lakes. As the train emptied its great weight of 
happy humanity on the platform it looked like the 
''grand opening" of some metropolitan dry-goods 
emporium. The scene changes, and the "fresh im- 
portation of French cloth and fancy goods'^ is climb- 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 



ing the gang-plank of the great excursion steamer 
which plies on the lakes during the summer season. 

We strolled about the passenger-deck for a few 
minutes, watched the people coming on board, heard 
the big bell tap, felt the great steamer back out 
into Wayzata Bay, and saw the town recede in the 
distance. The vessel seemed to walk the water like 
a thing of life. Her great keel cut the pure liquid 
and threw it aside, causing little bright waves to 
chase each other with ever-diminishing swell until 
they broke on the farthest shore. As she cut the 
ambient atmosphere the counter current caused the 
gentlemen instinctively to grasp their hats and the 
ladies to adjust their hat-pins and tuck in the infinite 
unmentionable ornaments that fluttered loosely and 
profusely from their angelic plumages (all rights re- 
served). We were now approaching Breezy Point, 
and I was trying to make out the exact spot where 
the ill-fated Minnie Cook had gone down with all on 
board, when we observed that the lady and gentleman 
in mourning had taken seats directly at our right. 
Soon our May was playing peej) with their little girl. 
It is wonderful with what simplicity, ease, and grace 
children get acquainted. No close scrutiny or cold 
formality of introduction required with them. We 
older children might do well to imitate them, and 
doubtless would if we were as innocent as they. 
But alas ! innocence departs with childhood, and sus- 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 



picion conies with age and experience. Well, to re- 
sume the thread of my story, the children got ac- 
quainted in their childish, innocent way, and were soon 
playing " catcher" over the deck. 

We noticed that the parents never took their eyes 
from their child, and we were afraid that they regard- 
ed its frolic with more fear than admiration. Their 
position for the time was a delicate one, for by 
calling their child away they would have indicated 
that it had been injudicious in the selection of a play- 
mate, and the company it was enjoying was not what 
they would sanction or approve ; but being sen- 
sible, well-bred people, they were equal to the occa- 
sion. And though they evidently felt alarm at the 
violence of its exercise, yet neither by word nor gesture 
did they signify their disapproval. But ever and 
anon the little girl would make a rush and bound 
into the arms of its father or mother, when it was 
caught up and kissed and fondled in a way we had 
never before witnessed ; then it would jump down 
and renew its frolic with as much violence as be- 
fore. Our child had just made a sudden sally, and 
theirs, retreating with headlong speed, tripped and 
suddenly tumbled, all in a heap, just at my feet. I 
caught her up in an instant, while her parents both 
came eagerly forward to receive her. " Mamie !" 
cried the mother, as I placed the child in her arms, 
" I am nearly frightened to death ; are you much 



CYPRESS LEAVES 



hurt ? Is lier arm broken, doctor ?" The father 
thanked me kindly, and then examining the child^s 
arm, found but a slight bruise on the elbow. 

" I beg your pardon, my dear sir," I said, addressing 
the father, " but may I have the pleasure of your ac- 
quaintance ? I just now heard your lady call you doctor, 
from which I infer we are brothers in the same profes- 
sion ;" so saying I jwesented my card. " Most certainly. 

Dr. ," he replied, grasping my hand ; "I am glad 

to know you. My name is Cyrus Clifton. I am a 
member of the regular profession from Minneapolis, 
and this is my wife Bessie and our daughter Mamie. ''' 
I then introduced my family to the doctor and his 
wife in turn, remarking as I did so that the children 
were already acquainted. My wife expressed her 
tenderest sympathy for Mamie, but said she was hap- 
py that the little accident had been the means of 
making the parents of two such amiable children ac- 
quainted. Dr. Clifton then invited us to be seated 
with them, and remarked on the delightful day Ave were 
having and the beauty of the surrounding scenery. 
"Beautiful indeed," I replied ; "and when a happy 
and contented heart beholds so much that is lovely 
and fair in nature, it wonders why any one should 
ever be otherwise than happy." " It does seem so," re- 
plied Mrs. Clifton ; " and yet through all that is beauti- 
ful and peaceful in nature, through all the mellow 
sunshine, through all the gentle breezes that murmur 



CTPRE88 LEAVES. 



in the tree-tops, through all the music of singing 
birds and laughter of merry children, there comes a 
wail of distress/^ " Pardon me, Mrs. Clifton/' my wife 
replied, " for venturing on so sacred a subject; but 
these outward emblems of mourning indicate that 
you have but recently passed through some great be- 
reavement/' A deep silence followed these remarks. 
My wife noticed the shadow that had fallen, and was 
about to change the theme, when Dr. Clifton replied, 

" Your observations are correct, Mrs. . Only 

eight months ago we were suddenly and unexpectedly 
bereaved of two darling children, since Avhich time 
life has seemed almost unbearable." " How exceed- 
ingly sad !" I replied ; " and is this all the child you 
have left ?" " Mamie now is our only child," said Mrs. 
Clifton, ''and she is all the world to us. She seems 
so very precious that we can scarcely endure to have 
her out of our arms for a moment." 

" I presume you are old residents of Minneapolis," 
I remarked ; " and may I ask what was the cause of 
your children's death ?" " We are Eastern people," 
replied the doctor. " AVc have lived in Minneapolis 
but two years. Our former home was in Pennsylva- 
nia. We came to the North-west in 1883 for the 
benefit of our healths, and to seek a home and a for- 
tune for our children. The first year after coming to 
Minneapolis our hopes were more than realized. We 
were all blessed with such health as we had never be- 



10 CYPRESS LEA VES. 



fore experienced, and were prospered financially far 
beyond our most sanguine dreams ; but just at that 
fatal moment, when we were supremely happy, and for- 
tune seemed to be pouring all her treasures into our 
cup, our two oldest children were suddenly stricken 
with diphtheria, and both died in one week. We laid 
them to rest side by side, and the night following the 
snow fell so deep and remained so long that for three 
months we could not find their graves." 

At this terrible revelation my wife could not suppress 
a cry of horror. " Oh, that most terrible of all terrible 
diseases that afflict children \" she replied ; " and were 
they boys or girls, and at what ages did they die ?" 
''Our children were all girls," replied Mrs. Clifton; 
"Birdie was our eldest, our hope and pride, and died 
at the age of thirteen years, Daisy was our second- 
born, her father's idol, and was about seven years old 
when she died." We both expressed, what indeed we 
could not help feeling, the deepest sympathy for them, 
and my wife said she was sure that they had gone to a 
better and brighter world than this. Mrs. Clifton 
said she took great comfort in so believing, and look- 
ed forward to the time when they should meet to 
part no more. 

"I presume. Dr. Clifton, that you are enjoying 
a large and lucrative practive in Minneapolis," I re- 
marked. " I have all that I am able to attend to," 
he replied, " and have had since the first day I open- 



CYPRESS LEA VES. 11 

ed my office.'' My wife said that it was some com- 
fort to know that while death had robbed them of 
their dearest treasures on the one hand, fortune had 
blessed them on the other. " Yes/' replied Mrs. 
Clifton ; " some one has said, ' The gods always make 
us pay for their favors ; ' but I would willingly part 
with every comfort I enjoy, and return again to pover- 
ty, if by the sacrifice I could have my children with 
me again." "I hope you will not think me imperti- 
nent, doctor," I remarked, '' if I ask in what part 
of Pennsylvania you were located?" "I^ot in the 
least," he replied ; " I have nothing to conceal ; but 
I find it difficult to answer your question, for the rea- 
son that we w"ere never located very long in any one 
place. To tell you where we have lived and what we 
have seen would be to give you the history of the first 
twelve years of our married life. Unfortunately for 
us, perhaps, I was possessed of a restless, roving disjio- 
sition, always seeking by a change of locality to 
better our condition, but invariably meeting witli 
reverses and disappointment. I sliould have to tell 
you that during that period Ave lived and travelled 
in New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Pennsylva- 
nia, West Virginia, and Ohio. I should have to 
confess to many wild adventures and disastrous defeats 
of which I am now heartily ashamed, but which at 
the time seemed unavoidable. I should have to tell 
you of terrible struggles Avith poverty and sickness on 



12 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

the one hand and of the merciless dealings of crafty 
and unscrupulous men on the other. I should tell 
you that I set up in business in thirty different places, 
and as many times was compelled to retire in disas- 
trous and what seems now disgraceful defeat. The 
account would tell you of our being sold out, burnt 
out, flooded out, and at last driven out of our own 
home by the presence of a terrible pestilence. I 
should tell you of the faithful and never-changing 
love of Bessie and the children to me during all these 
trying years. And at last, when the night of our 
struggle was over and the sun of prosperity had 
dawned upon us, I should tell you of the darkest week 
in our history, when our children died and we saw 
their sacred and loved forms buried forever from our 
sight. Of course from what I have already said you 
will naturally form a very poor opinion of my native 
judgment and capacity for doing business ; and yet the 
very worst you could think of me I am sure would be 
flattering Avhen compared with what I used to think 
of myself. I soon discovered that friendship is but a 
name, and that a jioor man has no friends. I dis- 
covered that a young man needed something else be- 
side an education or collegiate degrees ; something 
else even besides brains to insure his success in this 
world. I am sorry to confess it, but I was forced to 
the conclusion that craftiness and cunning, without 
the strictest regard for honesty, was what seemed to 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 13 

insure success to the greatest number." '' You tell 
a most extraordinary story, doctor/' I replied ; " and 
during all these trying times did you never give up in 
despair and take to drinking, as many men do ?" ^' I 
had moments of despair, it is true," he replied, ''but 
I never could see how drink or dissipation was going 
to help the matter ; and besides I thought too much 
of my family to spend my small income in the bar- 
room. I knew that I was their only support and pro- 
tector, and if I failed to provide for them they must 
necessarily be thrown upon the cold charities of the 
world. My friends took no pains to conceal their 
disgust, and were constantly referring to me as an im- 
becile and a failure. And, indeed, I thought so my- 
self, and my past experience only went to corroborate 
the charge. But it seems such an experience is nec- 
essary to some men in order that they may ajDpreciate 
success when it does come." "Well, doctor," I re- 
marked, ''according to the sketch with which you 
have favored us, I should say your career has been 
quite remarkable. We should surely think you were 
feigning, Avere it not that I know you could have no 
object in deceiving us. But, indeed, it sounds like a 
romance, and I hope you will not think it flattery 
when I tell you that 1 have become extremely inter- 
ested in your history, and eager to hear you relate it 
in detail. And, moreover, let me assure you that 
anything revealed to myself and wife will be held in 



14 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

the most sacred confidence.'^ ''Yes, indeed/' added 
my wife, " and I can say without flattery that I al- 
ready feel as if you were my friends, and shall be only 
too happy to know you as such. I would be greatly 
pleased to hear the experience of a coujale whose 
history has certainly been unique." " I am afraid it 
will be very tiresome to you," replied the doctor ; 
"but as you desire it, if you will both favor us with 
your company during the day I shall endeavor to 
give you a few sketches from time to time as the day 
proceeds." We had now crossed the bay of Wayzata, 
and Breezy Point appeared on the left. " There," I 
remarked, designating a spot on the lake some dis- 
tance from shore, "is about the point where the 
ill-fated Minnie Cook went down with all on board. 
On the beach may be seen the Maple Wood House and 
a great cluster of beautiful little cottages. To the 
right you may see Point Lookout and the Harring- 
ton House, while directly in front looms up Spirit 
Island, like an emerald set in a case of diamonds." 
My wife now urged the doctor to begin his story. He 
said he would do so on one condition — that if it be- 
came tiresome to us we should at once call him to or- 
der. My wife and I both gave our consent to this 
second condition ; so taking his little girl on his 
knee, and throwing away his cigar, he thus began his 
story : 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 15 

Softly fell the evening twilight o'er the hills of old 

Duquesne, 
And the dark and silent goddess held her. undisputed 

reign ; 
When to Bessie's snow-white bosom came a glad and 

sweet surprise — 
Came a babe with golden tresses, came a child with 

soft brown eyes. 

When the morning sun had risen where the infant 

sleeping lay, 
Came a friend from out the village, from a town not 

far away ; 
Laid a shining golden eagle on the little infant breast — 
" This for good luck," said the old man ; "in a robe 

let her be dressed." 

Then appeared a friend and sister from the distant 

river-side, 
Who had stood beside the maiden when she first 

became a bride ; 
Then said Laura, " I've a secret, which I greatly long 

to tell ; 
But I feel right sorry, Bessie, that I do not find you well. " 

Here the doctor came to a sudden pause, leaned back 
in his chair, and looked inquiringly into the eyes of liis 
wife. We regarded with much curiosity this sudden 
interruption of his story. Mrs. Clifton noticed our 



16 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

evident surprise, so tapping her husband on the knee 
with her parasol, she replied to his look of inquiry, 
''Go on, Cyrus ; it is all right." The doctor smiled, 
kissed little Mamie, and thus gave 

THE MOTHER'S STORY OF HER FIRST-BORN. 

Then replied the mother, blushing, while her hair was 

still unkept, 
" See, dear Laura, what a treasure came to Bessie 

while she slept. 
I was sleeping, warmly folded in my husband's strong 

embrace. 
When a hand both soft and gentle swept across my 

upturned face. 

" Starting from my pleasant slumbers, I beheld two 

eyes of light. 
And a voice beside my jdIIIow broke the stillness of 

the night : 
All my soul in pity melted for the little struggling 

form, 
And 1 clasped it to my bosom, that it might not 

suffer harm. 

" Surely some good angel mother out of babyland has 

brought 
This sweet image of my husband, unexpected and 

unsought ; 



CYPEES8 LEAVES. 17 

Then I called the darling Birdie as it slumbered on 

my breast, 
For it seemed just like a birdling that had wandered 

from its nest." 

The doctor's story was again unceremoniously inter- 
rupted by our hearty outburst of laughter at Mrs. 
Clifton's expense. We had noted with much amuse- 
ment the color rising to that lady's face during the 
above recital, and felt sure that the doctor had taken 
advantage of his wife's confidence to play a practical 
Joke on her. I ventured to remark that this birth 
was certainly a great improvement over the old way, 
and advised Mrs. Clifton to apply for letters patent if 
she had not already done so. Being of a speculative 
turn of mind, I thought with Colonel Sellers, " there 
was millions in it." At this observation my wife 
frowned and uttered a very significant hush. Fearing 
I had been indiscreet in my remarks, and having 
always had good reason to respect the authority of my 
wife, I immediately became silent while the doctor 
resumed his story : 

Search the wide domain of nature for a sight supreme- 
ly sweet ; 

Mark the crimson blush of passion when two ardent 
lovers meet ; 

Think of all the Joys ecstatic in the islands of the blest. 



18 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Then come see a fond young mother fold her first- 
born to her breast. 

In a robe we dressed our Birdie of the purest linen 
white, 

And we saw her dimpled features break, in smiles of 
limpid light : 

Soon her little feet grew stronger, and her lips the 
pearls part. 

And her voice in mellow accents spoke the music of 
her heart. 

Grew she now in form and feature from an infant to 

a child. 
And her voice was like the bird-song bui-sting forth 

from woodland wild : 
Never child to mortals given with a heart more pure 

and light. 
Never soul so sweet and simple shone from eyes so 

clear and bright. 

Summers came all bright with sunshine ; deep in 
winter fell the snow ; 

Spring appeared with blooming flowers, still we saw 
her come and go ; 

Birdie was our joy and comfort, she was still our con- 
stant care. 

Kneeling always close beside us while she said her 
evening prayer. 



CYPRESS LEA VES. 19 

As the doctor concluded these words, he gave the 
child to its mother ; a shadow came over his counte- 
nance ; he rested his head on his hand for a moment in 
a meditative way ; then, grasping his cane with one 
hand and resting the other on his knee, he tlius con- 
tinued his story : 

THE PANIC AND SACRIFICE. 

Then there came a dreadful panic, Avhich you will 

remember well ; 
Many banks and many merchants by financial pressure 

fell. 
What a struggle for existence ! Eaged the battle fierce 

and long ; 
But Ave ahvays see the weaker swept like chafE before 

the strong. 

Education, worth, and genius, virtues you may have 

untold ; 
They'll be cast aside as worthless — everything gives 

place to gold. 
When a money panic threatens human hearts are 

turned to stone. 
And the lion and the tiger sit upon fair Eeason's 

throne. 
Then it was that I was stricken on a weaiy bed of pain, 
And the wasting hand of fever bound mc with its 

iron chain. 



20 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Very small and still decreasing then became our scanty 

store. 
And the wolf of want and hunger howled before our 

cottage door. 

A physician was our landlord, with a million golden 
store, 

AVho with soulless heart of marble drove the beggar 
from his door. 

Pity he a young physician who was striving hard to 
rise ? 

Oh, yes ! with such tears of pity as are seen in pan- 
thers' eyes. 

Listen to his tender message : " I will not abate a cent ; 
I will sell your bed and bedding, if you fail to pay the 

rent. " 
It was not sufficient for him, punishment for us not 

meet. 
From his tenement to drive us, throw us in the dirty 

street. 

Far more sweet it was to crush us, drive us naked 

from his door. 
With no place our heads to pillow, sacrifice our scanty 

store. 
That he might this end accomplish, and the action 

might not fail. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 31 

All our goods were seized by warrant, advertised at 
auction sale. 

Then our Birdie gave her pennies — pennies saved from 

day to day ; 
Gave them to her mamma, saying, " These, dear 

mam, the debt will pay." 
But in vain the sacred offering ; naught could move his 

heart of stone ; 
Nothing now could satisfy Jdim but the ruin of our 

home. 

Dark and heavy came the morning of that fatal 
autumn day 

When we saw the fruits of four years in an hour 
swept away ; 

Sold by a physician brother with his millions and to 
spare ; 

Sacrificed like worthless lumber to the Jews he gath- 
ered there. 

When I saw our household treasures carried from the 

open door. 
And my wife and little Birdie sitting on the naked 

floor. 
Then I knelt beside them, weeping, while their tears 

fell like rain. 
And our grief, too great to utter, filled our hearts with 

bitter pain. 



22 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Long we knelt in silence, weeping o'er that sad, un- 
lucky time 

Wliicli no crime of ours had hastened, save that pov- 
erty's a crime. 

As I thought upon the mother, thought upon our in- 
fant child, 

Vain I tried my grief to smother, and my frantic 
brain went wild. 

Springing then from off the floor, like a lion on his 
prey. 

Or a tiger in the jungle when he holds the hounds at 
bay. 

Thus I closed my supplication — fearful ending to a 
prayer. 

And my curses long and fearful fell upon the even- 
ing air. 

"We had passed Sunset Point, and were neariug the 
Hotel St. Louis in Carson's Bay, while Cottage Wood 
Park lay off to our right. As the doctor uttered the 
last words of the above narrative, a great change came 
over the man. From the sad, melancholy, grief- 
stricken husband he seemed now to assume almost the 
appearance of a madman. The blood mounted to 
his temples and his eyes flashed fire. The great 
carotids throbbed and stood out like whip-cords in his 
neck. My wife noticed the change, and instinctively 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 33 

shrank behind my chair, while the attention of many 
passengers was attracted to where we were sitting. 
He grasped his cane firmly across his knee with both 
hands, looked fiercely into my eyes, drew his breath 
hard through his teeth, while he uttered the following 
fearful words, which I shall designate as 

DR. CLIFTON'S CUESE. 

Cursed be all education and the years of mental toil ; 

Cursed be the fools that study and consume the mid- 
night oil ; 

Cursed was my graduation, when I deemed that I was 
blessed ; 

Cursed be the hopes that flatter every young physi- 
cian's breast. 

Cursed be that false profession I was taught to view 

with pride. 
And the brotherhood of doctors, who their friendship 

have belied ; 
Not for them to help a brother in the outward pull 

for life. 
But to sink his fragile vessel as they sink the surgeon's 

knife. 

I have found them selfish, jealous, dreading competi- 
tion more 

Than the sailor dreads the tempest or the rocks along 
the shore. 



24 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Both the honors and profession I have found an empty 

name : 
Can they blame me if hereafter I shall prostitute the 

same ? 

Cursed be that miser doctor with his millions more or 

less 
Who for eighty paltry dollars one poor family could 

distress. 
Let the tears of little Birdie and the anguish of my 

wife 
Curse the cup his lips are pressing, blast the bread 

that gives him life. 

Let the money that he gathered when he sacrificed 

our bed 
Fall like drops of molten metal on the greedy miser's 

head; 
Let disease upon his vitals fasten with such deadly 

grasp ^ 

That one thousand skilled physicians never may the 

grij) unclasp. 

May a thousand demon faces through his chamber 

window peep. 
And a million slimy reptiles o'er his downy pillow 

creep ; 
Fill his home with all the tortures which of old on 

Egypt fell ; 



VYPRESS LEAVES. ^'5 

Make his parlor like a bedlam, turn his chamber into 
hell. 

Cursed be that heartless Justice who this cruel v/ar- 
rant gave ; 

Let remorse of conscience haunt him till he 2:>lunge 
within the grave. 

Make his consort cease to love him and his daughter 
to caress. 

And the home he loves to cherish like a barren wil- 
derness. 

Locked within some dungeon prison, let him waste his 
life away, 

Never breathing breath of freedom, never seeing light 
of day. 

Cursed be that rude official who this warrant exe- 
cutes ; 

Manhood sure has fled disgusted and descended into 
brutes. 

Such vile things as carry warrants and disgrace the 

courts assize. 
They are neither brute nor human, they are demons 

in disguise. 
Cursed be the State and city which such laws their 

sanction gave. 
And have made the poor and needy little better than 

a slave. 



26 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Let the stern oppressor tremble, for the wheels of 

time shall turn 
Till the poor, with dreadful vengeance, rise to 

slaughter and to burn. 
There shall come a day of reck'ning for the millionaire 

at last. 
And he'll listen to their pleading when his day of 

grace is past. 

As the doctor concluded the words of his terrible 
anathema our feelings, as you may imagine, were all 
more or less strained. Mrs. Clifton noticed my wife's 
evident terror and begged her not to be alarmed, as 
her husband was never known to do violence to 
any one except in a surgical way at their own request. 
"That may be very true,'^ replied my wife, "and 
yet I confess that to be the most terrible curse I ever 
heard a sane man utter." " Allow me to ask you, 
Dr. Clifton," I said, " if you know anything of the 
future history of the men who were the means of de- 
stroying your home ?" The doctor had now assumed 
his usual quiet demeanor, and after a moment's pause, 
he replied, " Well, it does seem strange, but they 
all came to a bad end. Of course, my curse had 
nothing whatever to do with it ; but it really seems 
to me that there is such a thing as retributive justice. 
The doctor died three years afterward of an obscure 
and incurable disease which baffled all medical skill. 



CYPRESS LEA VES. 37 

The justice was tried for seduction, found guilty, and 
sent to the penitentiary for ten years. The constable 
met his death by violence in a low drinking-saloon in 
the suburbs of the city ; and three years later the 
city came very near being destroyed by the railroad 
riots, which Avere nothing more than the rising of the 
poor against monopoly and oppression." My wife said 
she believed firmly in retributive justice both in this 
life and that to come. Mrs. Clifton said she could 
freely endorse that belief. The doctor said he hoped 
it was true, and it seemed to be so, at least in this 
case. "Do you still hold the same sentiments, doc- 
tor," I inquired, " in reference to education and the 
medical profession as you did thirteen years ago ?" 
" No," he replied ; " I have been brought to regard 
both with much more favor. I will acknowledge that 
my language is a little strong, but I hope that my 
youth and want of experience and the great aggrava- 
tion of the case will be sufficient excuse for the lan- 
guage used. I now know that the medical profession 
contains some as noble and unselfish men as are to be 
found in any calling. AVhile I don't condemn schools 
and colleges nor disparage theory, yet I claim that 
they are insufficient, and that nothing will qualify a 
man for doing business but actual experience and 
contact with business men. Learning to do business," 
continued the doctor, " is very much like learning to 
skate on the ice with a crowd of professionals. The 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 



amateur will get some hard shoves and cut some awk- 
ward figures. He will lose his head occasionally. 
His capital will become a little shaky, and all of a 
sudden the bottom will fall out, and he will drop so 
hard as to see stars above and cut stars below ; but if 
he perseveres, he will be sure to leave his mark some- 
where." My wife and I both said that we thought he 
was quite correct in his observations on education 
and experience, and we were glad to know that he 
had at last attained the experience, although at a great 
cost. The boat had already reached the landing at 
the Hotel St. Louis. Our attention was attracted for 
the time by the transfer of passengers and the music 
from the band that was playing on the lawn in front 
of the hotel ; but when the boat was again on her way, 
the doctor continued his story as follows : 

While to Butler, then, I wandered by the Conequenes- 

sing side. 
Through the fairy town of Freeport, where I met my 

youthful bride, 
Bessie on to Leechburg journeyed with our darling 

little one. 
Where the Kiskiminitas sparkles in the morning 

sun. 

There did Bessie meet her kindred, where in child- 
hood she did roam : 



CYPRESS LEA VES. 2 'J 

Birdie saw her great-grandmother in her quiet cot- 
tage liome ; 

Bessie's mother also joined them in the little country 
town, 

And old grandma saw her children for three genera- 
tions down. 

"'Tell me, Birdie," said old grandma, "whence these 

golden ringlets came ? 
Bessie, you are like my Maggie, but you have your 

grandma's name. 
All my kindred back were noted for their black and 

glossy hair ; 
All the men were brave and honest, all the daughters 

very fair." 

" It was evening," said the doctor, " and they were 
all sitting around the great fireplace in the little cot- 
tage. Old grandma occupied her arm-chair directly 
in front of the fire, while her grandchild Bessie sat 
at her right and her daughter Maggie at her left. 
She had just been enjoying a quiet smoke, but now, 
when little Birdie came up to her, grasped her wrink- 
led hand and looked up into her face, she seemed to 
wake as from a reverie. She knocked the ashes out 
of lier pipe, laid it on the mantel, took her great- 
grandchild on her knee, put back her curls with her 
wrinkled hands, kissed her, and then told the follow- 
ing story : 



30 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

GEANDMOTHER^S STORY. 

Oh, well do I remember, child. 

Just sixty years ago, 
A little girl with golden curls — 

Her name was Jennie Stow. 

These fertile fields and meadows green 

Were then a forest wild. 
And often to my door there came 

This little blue-eyed child. 

The screaming of the catamount 
Did make the woods resound. 

And in the dark and stormy nights 
The gray wolf prowled around. 

The black bear then was seen by day 
To climb these mountains high. 

And in the forest late at night 
Was heard the panther's cry. 

The hunter with his gun and dog 
These rocky steeps did scale. 

And still there lingered in the woods 
The redman's bloody trail. 

The wild roe sported in the glen ; 
The buck, with cautious eye. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 31 



Suspicious snuffed the passing breeze, 

And tossed his antlers high. 

The turkey gobbled in the wild, 

And oft, at early daAvn, 
Upon the banks across the stream 

Was seen the spotted fawn. 

Tliis thriving village which you see 
Was then almost unknown — 

Two cabins built of unhewn logs, 
With chimneys built of stone ; 

A country store, a blacksmith shop, 

A rusty tavern stand, 
And half a dozen fearless men 

Were all we could command. 

But I forget ; I just began 

To tell of Jennie Stow, 
A little girl with golden curls — 

'Twas sixty years ago. 

She came, one cold and wintry night. 

Up to my cabin door, 
To get some meal to make some cakes. 

For they were very poor. 

I filled her sack, but greatly feared 
'J'o send lier foi'tli alone ; 



33 , CYPRESS LEAVES. 

She kissed me then and left my door. 
But never reached her home. 

Next morning in the hazel-brake 

The empty sack was found, 
And near it lay her little shawl. 

All frozen to the ground. 

The men turned out with guns and dogs. 

And hunted high and low, 
But failed to find another trace 

Of little Jennie Stow. 

The hungry wolf made her his prey. 

Or panther from the glen ; 
Or else she met a sadder fate 

With wild and savage men. 

^Tis not a fable. Birdie dear, 

This mournful tale is true ; 
And that sweet child with golden curls 

Looked very much like you. 

Our attention was now attracted by a little pleasure 
boat called the Saucy Kate. She was blowing her 
whistle as a warning for the big boat to get out of 
the way, as if she was lady of the lake, although we 
could have put the entire boat in our pilot-house. 
She was just passing Ferguson Point on her way from 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 33, 



Excelsior to Wayzata, and was puffing and splashing 
like a Scotch terrier at a mastiff. Tlie ladies saluted 
us in passing by a flutter of handkercliiefs, and we 
returned the compliment by waving ours. The beau- 
tiful cottages at Ingleside now lay to our left, while 
Island Park lay to our right, and a beautiful little 
island called Bright Wood appeared directly in front 
of the vessel. "Let me see, now," said the doctor; 
" where was I when I was interrupted ?" " You had 
just concluded the grandmother's story, doctor," re- 
plied my wife. " Oh, yes," he replied ; " and can you 
tell me, Bessie, how long your grandmother has been 
dead ?" " About nine years, Cyrus," she replied. 
The doctor then continued as follows : 

Then grandma wiped a tear away, and rocked her to 

and fro ; 
Iler memory seemed to wander back to days of long 

ago. 

The child and Bessie shook with fear, and uttered not 

a word ; 
It seemed as though about the door the prowling 

wolves they heard. 

Just then I stepped upon the porch and heard a great 

uproar, 
As some one rushed across the room and quickly 

locked the door. 



34 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Then all was quiet in the house, while I began to 

shout, 
" If you intend to let me in, why do you lock me 

out r 

Then Bessie set the portal wide — ''Why, goodness 

gracious. Doc, 
We thought you were a savage wild, you gave us 

such a shock !" 

*' Well, so I am ; you'd better wish your head was 

now a block ; 
For here's my scaljiing-knife," said I, '' and here's 

my tomahawk." 

Just then I laid a carver down, which in the light 

did gleam. 
Beside an axe which I had found in crossing o'er the 

stream. 

They all had then a hearty laugh, enjoyed the joke 

awhile, 
While Birdie's welcome shouts of joy caused old 

grandma to smile. 

" This is my husband now, grandma, who on the rail 

has been ; 
And, doctor, this is grandmamma, whom you have 

never seen. " 



CYPBE88 LEAVES. 35 

Then old grandma put on her specs and gazed 

awhile at me ; 
Then looked at little golden hair, that sat upon my 

knee. 

" Well, doctor, I have often heard, and doubtless so 

have you, 
The father's image in the child doth prove the 

mother true. 

**I'm sure my grandchild Bessie here a faithful wife 

will make ; 
And you will love her for this child, and for her own 

dear sake." 

We stayed all night and all next day, and when the 

eve had come 
We all were seated round the fire within the cottage 

home. 

The sun now sunk behind the hills and soft the twi- 
light fell 

As we put on our coats and wraps, and turned to say 
farewell. 

We were now entering Excelsior Bay, and had a fine 
view of the town in the distance. The passengers 
waiting at Excelsior had already sighted the boat, and 
were waving their handkerchiefs. We all arose to 



36 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

our feet. To the right appeared Lake Park, "while 
to the left we could see the cottages at Edgewood and 
Hickory Point. While the boat was nearing the 
landing, the doctor concluded this part of his story by 
giving us 

GEANDMOTHEK^S PEOPHECY. 

" Good-by, grandma, you shall meet us when we've 

seen a better day. 
And the brilliant star of fortune shines across our 

thorny way ;" 
" Good-by, children, old grandmother scarce can totter 

to the door ; 
But I feel within my bosom I shall never see you 

more. 

"Many years you'll struggle onward, breasting every 
stormy blast ; 

But your hearts were born to conquer, you will over- 
come at last. 

But before this happy blessing shall upon my children 
come. 

Many years shall old grandmother sleep within her 
silent tomb. 

"Good-by, children, may God bless you, old grandma 

can say no more ;" 
Then she kissed the child and mother, weeping at her 

cottage-door ; 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 37, 

Then she watched our parting footsteps winding 

down the river-side, 
Till she saw our trusty boatman safe across the waters 

glide. 

During the transfer of passengers at Excelsior, I 
gave the doctor a cigar and lit one myself, and we 
walked about the deck, and quietly enjoyed the sur- 
rounding scenery. A band of colored jubilee singers 
came on board, Avho entertained the passengers at odd 
times during the day by their fine violin and banjo 
music and quaint plantation songs. " That," I said, 
pointing to the left and addressing the ladies, who 
were walking in front of us, "is called St. Alban's 
Bay, and this body of water to the right Grideon's 
Bay." They all thought the scenery very romantic. 
Just then the bell tapped, and the boat backed 
out from the landing and turned her bow toward 
Lake Park, while the jubilee singers favored us 
with a song. As we passed the ice-water tank we 
each got a fresh drink of pure lake water, and after 
being seated on the shady side of the boat, the doctor 
continued his story as follows : 

Then to Blairsville we proceeded, and arrived at early 

dawn ; 
Then to Indiana travelled, and to old Kittanning 

town. 



38 CYPRESS LEA VES. 

Then returning through Terrentum^ where our feet 

had learned to roam, 
We arrived in Allegheny, which of late had been 

our home. 

Sought we now in Southern cities broken fortunes to 

restore. 
Where the broad Ohio Eiver washes West Virginia's 

shore. 
But our little angel daughter never ceased our lives to 

bless ; 
Never ceased to be our comfort in the hours of our 

distress. 

Here we prospered for a little, and good fortune seemed 

to smile. 
And the goddess here relenting, seemed to favor us 

awhile. 
But her favors were but fickle and of momentary 

kind ; 
Nothing stable here to rest on, nothing permanent 

we find. 

Then through Wellsville and Alliance, and the country 

looking forth 
To Eavenna we proceeded, and to Hudson in the 

north. 
Then to Akron came at sunset, where the county fair 

was held ; 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 39 



And we saw a hundred workshops making wares for 
farm and field. 

Here for six more weeks we Hngered, in this fair Ohio 

town ; 
Saw the mighty farming engines, and canal-boats 

creeping down ; 
Saw the great and dusty flour-mills, with the chain 

works forge and brand ; 
Heard the deafening ring of knife Avorks, heard the 

sweet Italian band. 

Onward then we took our journey from the Cuyahoga 
stream 

Northward to the Forest City, where Lake Erie's 
waters gleam ; 

Here we took our little Birdie, in the summer even- 
ing's glow, 

Out upon the placid waters, as the wavelets onward 
flow. 

When she saw the restless waters washing up the 

golden sand, 
Says she, "Papa, do they rest not ? Do they never 

quiet stand ?" 
*' No, my child ; in ages past nothing could the Avaves 

control ; 
And in ages yet to come, onAvard shall the Avaters 

roll." 



40 CYPBESS LEAVES. 

Back we journeyed then to Pittsburg, where the 
smoky columns rise, 

And a thousand dusky temples point their steeples to 
the skies ; 

Then behind the mighty engine speed we o'er the iron 
rails. 

Till the cottages of Greensburg shine among the east- 
ern hills. 

Through Latrobe and ancient Blairsville, leaving 
Johnstown far behind. 

On we fly o'er hills and valleys, like the strong No- 
vember wind. 

Till we pass the long black tunnel, and Kittanning 
Point attend. 

Arid we saw the road descending in the wondrous 
Horseshoe Bend. 

Then upon the platform standing — sight appalling to 

be seen — 
We beheld the mountain gorges clad in ever-living 

green. 
Many thousand feet below us, from the summit's giddy 

height, 
We could see the road descending, till the view was 

lost to sight. 

Then upon the distant mountains, as our eyes beheld 
again. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 41 

We could see the busy farmer raking up the golden 
grain; 

Far above appeared the summit in the sunlight's mel- 
low glow, 

And beneath the mighty engine plunging to the plains 
beloAV. 

From Altoona in the valley on we fly through old 

Tyrone, 
Till we reach the Susquehanna, proud, majestic, and 

alone. 
Bearing on her surging bosom, from the land of spruce 

and pine, 
Logs to build our merchant vessels, that shall visit 

every clime. 

Then to Harrisburg proceeded, o'er a bridge of many 

spans ; 
Onward in that fertile valley Lancaster in beauty 

stands. 
Here the iron engine halted, panting like a tired 

steed. 
And a dozen barrels of water must supply his present 

need. 

And the long train bumped and jostled, like a drunk- 
ard Avhen he reels. 

And we heard the iron hammer tapping all the metal 
wheels ; 



42 CTPEESS LEAVES. 

Now it gave a snort in starting which the trembling 

earth sent back, 
And we saw the sparks of fire fly like chaff along the 

track. 

As we neared the marble city on the Schuylkill's glassy 
banks, 

We beheld the towering steeples rise like sentinels in 
ranks ; 

And about the Union depot, as the long train thun- 
dered in, 

Gongs were sounding, drivers yelling, with an ever- 
lasting din. 

Far to eastward thus we drifted, where the nations 

from afar 
Had assembled ; where our fathers saw the nation's 

natal star ; 
Where oppression down was trampled, and the shout 

of freedom's song 
Full one hundred years resounded o'er a nation young 

and strong. 

Birdie saw the worlds assembled, saw the wonders of 

all lands ; 
Saw the jieople of all nations and the work of skilful 

hands. 
Many were her looks of wonder, many questions asked 

she o'er. 



CYPRESS LEA VES 43 

Till exhausted nature found her sleeping on the 
marble floor. 

Wheresoe'er by day we wandered in the' Exposition 

stand, 
Some one had a smile for Birdie, some one took her 

by the hand ; 
Some Avould stroke her yellow ringlets, some admire 

her skin so white ; 
Some were with her smile enraptured and her eyes so 

large and bright. 

AVas it strange that she was noticed 'mong the mill- 
ions gathered there ? 

AVas it strange she was admired for her eyes and gold- 
■en hair ? 

Surely something more than brown eyes, something 
more than golden curls 

Shone about the little mortal, to attract the praise of 
worlds. 

Here for many weeks we lingered, in this city of the 

free. 
Where the Delaware its waters rolls in beauty to the 

sea ; 
Sojourned then awhile in Camden, fairest gem in 

Jersey laid, 
AV'ith her palaces of marble and her trees of grateful 

shade. 



44 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Then we took our journey southward from the nation's 

greatest fair 

To the Monumental City, through the towns of Dela- 
ware ; 

Then to Washington proceeded, where that loyal man 
and great 

Eeared tlie Capitol majestic, with its dome of regal 
state. 

Leaving then the regal city, where Potomac's waters 

run. 
Soon we saw the blazing headlight point toward the 

setting sun ; 
Passing many sunny meadows, where the shepherds 

feed their flocks. 
Soon we reached the little village which is called the 

Point of Eocks. 

Just across the broad Potomac, on Virginia's golden 
sand, 

Eose the lights of Harper's Ferry, Avhere old John 
Brown made a stand ; 

While along the crystal river we were dying quick and 
fast. 

We inhaled the mountain breezes rising on the even- 
ing blast. 

While we crossed the mountain ranges on the good 
Ohio line. 



CYPRESS LEA VES. 45 

Darkness held his reign around us and the stars for- 
got to shine. 

Cumberhmd we reached at midnight, and .when Graf- 
ton we descried, 

Saw the hills of West Virginia stretching far on either 
side. 

Back we carried little Birdie on the flying midnight 

train, 
Over mountains, over bridges, passing fields of waving 

grain ; 
Back again to friendly Wheeling, which we left a year 

before. 
City she of lasting friendship, on the fair Ohio shore. 

Poverty with bony fingers stretched his sceptre o'er 

us there, 
And the sable hand of sickness furrowed every brow 

with care. 
Oh, that cold and cruel winter ! Fierce the storm 

howled overhead ; 
But yet fiercer than the storm wind was* the- cry that 

rose for bread. 

As we waited for the dawning of a bright and better 

day. 
Came to us another daughter from the land that's far 

away ; 



46 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

She the image of her mother;, all except her golden 

hair ; 
Gray her eyes were like the dawning, and her features 

wondrous fair. 

" Shall we name the little stranger ? What sweet 

name shall we impart 
Ta this little ray of sunshine that now slumbers on 

my heart ?" 
Tims the mother spoke inquiring ; then said Birdie, 

" Let me tell : 
Call my little sister Daisy, for a second name add 

Dell." 

What a gorgeous scene presented itself to our view 
as we approached Lake Park I Surely there is not a 
more beautiful place in all the world. The tall and 
graceful oaks and elms, with their straight trunks, 
lifted their spreading branches above a lawn as green 
as emerald and as soft and smooth as a velvet carpet. 
The grand and elegant Park Hotel nestled among 
the trees like an island of snow in a sea of green. A 
brass band was discoursing sweet music from the 
veranda, while dozens of ladies and children dressed 
in gay colors were seen skipping and dancing over 
the green grass. As the bank rose several feet above 
the water's edge, all this gorgeous scene was again 
pictured and mirrored in the crystal lake. We had 



CTPBESS LEA VE8. 47 



all risen to our feet^, and stood mute and transfixed 
with admiration for the enchanting scene before us 
as the boat approached the landing. I suggested that 
perhaps we had better stop here for the "balance of 
the day, but the ladies said they were out to see the 
lakes, and objected to having their trip abridged. 
After the band at the hotel ceased playing, the jubilee 
singers on the boat favored us with one of their plan- 
tation songs, accompanied by music, which elicited a 
great deal of applause from the crowd on shore. I 
now suggested that we have a glass of beer while the 
passengers were being transferred ; but as the ladies 
did not wish to join us in this beverage, we were com- 
pelled to go alone. When we rejoined the company 
the boat had already left the landing ; so after we 
were seated, the doctor thus continued his story : 



THE FIEE. 

^Twas midnight in September, 

We all were fast asleep. 
And not a sound or warning 

Disturbed the quiet deep. 
When through our peaceful slumbers 

The cry of lire did break. 
And loud the night patrolman 

Was calling us to Avake. 



48 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

A smoke from burning carpets 

Came from the room below. 
While out upon the pavement 

We saw a lurid glow. 
1 threw the casement open, 

Set wide the chamber door, 
And down the winding stairway 

The little children bore. 

I gave them to a neighbor, 

Who took them from the street ; 
Then up the stairs ascending, 

I rushed with flying feet. 
My wife had swooned with terror 

Upon the chamber floor ; 
I raised her in an instant. 

And tried to find the door. 

The flames had reached the stairway, 

Eetreat thereby Avas vain ; 
So to the open window 

I found my way again. 
Upon the low veranda 

I now leaped with a bound ; 
Then down the roof descending. 

Again leaped to the ground. 

The flames that wrapped the dwelling 
The midnight sky illumed ; 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 49 

We saw in one short hour 

Our household goods consumed. 

The morning found me homeless. 
Deprived of everything 

Save wife and two small children, 
Who round my neck did cling. 

" Oh, helpless wife and children !" 

Was heard my bitter cry ; 
" Why are we so unlucky — 

'Tis better we should die !" 
*' No ! no V said Bessie, praying, 

" To grief do not succumb ; 
Remember grandma's saying, 

" A happy day shall come.' 

" Our fortunes have been blighted 

By fire and selfish men ; 
All things by time are righted. 

We'll try it once again. 
Although our goods are wasted 

And scattered to the winds. 
While death we have not tasted. 

The star of hope remains." 

Then we left the Southern city, and through Steuben- 

ville we passed ; 
Leaving Wellsville in our Journey, came to Liverpool 

at last. 



50 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Here we found both friends and plenty in this garden 

of the West, 
And though small our daily earnings, yet we never 

were distressed. 

These we think the brightest moments ever yet our 
lives had blessed ; 

Look they now like green oases in the desert of the 
past. 

True, our income was but meagre, and we lived on 
frugal fare ; 

But the days were bright and cheerful with the friend- 
ships cherished there. 

Liverpool we left in April, passing through Alliance 

town ; 
Leaving Canton in our journey, we arrived at Massil- 

lon. 
In the Tuscarawas Valley, where I brought my babes 

and wife, 
Though the land was like a garden, still the struggle 

was for life. 

Dark the night before the morning on that coming 
fourth of May, 

And our darling little treasures on their dreamy pil- 
lows lay. 

As the angels, sweeping downward, now the poor 
man's cottage blessed. 



X 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 51 



And a jewel fresh from lieaven dropped within our 
cradle nest. 

This^ the last, we thought the sweetest, "as her infant 

form we view ; 
Brown her hair was, like the chestnut, and her eyes 

of heavenly blue. 
Little May from heaven descended, wondrous path by 

angels trod ; 
Not the image of her parents, but the image of her 

God. 

But our lives run in a circle, and to Pittsburg we 

return. 
Where a hundred mills of iron by a thousand engines 

turn ; 
And the sooty smoke of labor, shutting out the rays 

of light, 
Hangs above the smoky city like a curtain of the 

night. 

While the little girls were playing, where the busy 

highways meet. 
Birdie, who was ever watchful of the dangers of the 

street. 
Spied a team of horses frightened bounding down the 

narrow way. 
Onward coming, like the whirlwind, where the little 

sisters play. 



."•2 aYPEElSS LEA VES. 

Quick as thought her sister Daisy in her girlish 

arms she caught, 
Flew to save her from the danger — never of herself 

she thought ; 
Safe from death impending brought her to the 

sidewalk from the street, 
Just in time the child to rescue from the tramp of 

horses' feet. 

Often when her fainting mamma could not raise her 

aching head. 
Birdie, like a little angel, watched all day beside her 

bed. 
Birdie, like a little mother, cared for Daisy and for 

May, 
AVhile her mamma, weak and helpless, on a bed of 

sickness lay. 

Just as the doctor uttered the last sentence we 
were startled by a report of firearms, and looking to 
the right, toward Island Park, we saw a couple of wild 
ducks flutter in the air and fall into the -water. We 
saw the hunters on shore send out two dogs, who swam 
to the ducks, caught them in their mouths, and swam 
to shore again. This was great amusement for the chil- 
dren, and they expressed their joy by shouting and clap- 
ping their hands, and asking a hundred and one ques- 
tions about the dogs, the ducks, the guns, and the men. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 53 

They finally wound up by making us promise to get 
each a gun and dog and flock of ducks, and go a- 
hunting with them. The doctor had evidently lost 
the string of his story, and had to call his wife to his 
assistance. " Where did we move to next, Bessie ?" 
"To the Allegheny Valley, doctor," she replied. 
"Don't you remember the flood?" "Oh, yes; I 
didn't think I should ever forget that !" and he con- 
tinued by giving us the story of 

THE FLOOD. 

Then we went to live in Sharpsburg, 

Which a pleasant valley fills. 
Where the rushing Allegheny 

Sweeps along between the hills. 

There the waters swiftly rising. 
On a dark and stormy night. 

Flooded all the lower story. 
Hid the kitchen out of sight. 

Round about the little cottage 

Drift in random ruin piled. 
And the mad and surging waters 

Circled round us fierce and wild. 

Then I carried out the children, 
Placed them on the gravel shore. 



54 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

And the fainting form of Bessie 
Through the angry waters bore. 

Then we carried back to Pittsburg 
What the muddy waters left ; 

But we mourned our buried treasures. 
Like a heart that is bereft. 

Three more years of toil and labor in the smoky city 
spent. 

And, though always blest with plenty, yet we never 
were content ; 

For the ghostly hand of sickness ever hung above our 
heads ; 

Many days and nights of watching had we by our dar- 
lings^ beds. 

Sighed we now for lands of sunshine, where our chil- 
dren might be free 

From the city's vile corruption and the air's impurity ; 

Free to roam among the flowers, in some quiet village 
home. 

There to read the book of nature, and no more desire 
to roam. 

We now caught sight of the fa9ades and gables of 
the Hotel Lafayette at Minnetonka Beach, five miles 
away. We all ascended to the hurricane deck in order 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 55 

that we might have a better view of tliis famous 
watering-place as the vessel approached the beach. 
Our eyes now rested on a scene of great beauty. 
Here was the beach, with its many pavilions and gravel 
walks ; farther on was the park, with its green lawns, 
fine drive-ways, and fountains playing in the sun, 
while in the background loomed up the majestic Hotel 
Lafayette, with its long veranda. On the veranda 
or promenading the park were hundreds of people in 
summer dress, and we could now see the flutter of 
handkerchiefs and catch the strains of music from the 
brass band. While the great steamer was approaching 
the landing, and our eyes were feasting on its gorgeous 
beauty, the doctor continued his story as follows : 

EMIGRATING TO THE NORTH-WEST. 

In man's checkered life comes a moment suj^reme. 
When he launches his boat at the head of the stream ; 
"Tis a moment supreme, and it can't be denied. 
When he launches his bark at the flood of the tide. 
From life's golden banks, then, if onward he goes. 
He gathers perennial fruit as it grows ; 
If outward he floats with the ebb of the tide. 
The diamond and emerald blaze at his side. 

There now came a moment to me, to be brief, 
AVlien life seemed a burden and death a relief. 



56 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

From all our life's sowing for many long years. 
For harvest we reaped but affliction and tears. 
When prostrate with sickness and fainting with pain, 
And never expecting my health to regain, 
And praying the path might appear to our view 
Which leads up to health and prosperity too, 
I heard of a clime in the far-distant West 
Where they might be happy and I might be blest. 
Where poverty's burden we never should know. 
And health-giving breezes forever should blow. 
'Twas then through the darkness I saw a great 

light, 
And out of the gloom rose the star of my night. 
It seemed as if fortune that moment had found 
AVhen poverty's chain I should burst with a bound. 

" Oh, no ! no !'' said Bessie, " don't go, doctor, stay ! 

The place that you speak of is far, far away. 

The winters, I hear, are so bleak and so cold, 

To live there one season would make me grow old. 

In summer the icicles hang on the trees. 

And all through the winter we'll shiver and freeze. 

The lakes and the rivers are froze so throughout. 

That all the long summer they never thaw out. 

That cordwood and fuel is sold by the pound. 

And fires in the parlors burn all the year round. 

One cannot go walking without a bear-skin, 

Or buffalo and beaver, from ankle to chin. 



CYPRESS LEAVES 57 

They crawl in their cellars to hide from the storm, 
And horses wear leggings to keep themselves warm. 
To go to that climate would surely be cruel ; 
AVe'd never get cash to buy flannels and fuel/' 

" I know, my dear Bessie, the winters are cold, 
But summers are pleasant, I've often been told. 
I'll fear not the winters, nor icy North-west, 
When I've gained a dwelling for those I love best. 
To help our condition I surely shall try ; 
To stay in this climate for me is to die." 

The farewell of Birdie my bosom still warms ; 
She twined round my shoulders her lily-white arms. 
And wept on my bosom her sorrows and fears — 
" Eemember me, papa," she begged through her 
tears. 

''' I'll think of you. Birdie, when far, far away, 
And send for my darling some bright summer day ; 
I'll carry you then to our own cottage home. 
And never again from my little girl roam. 
And when we have all been united again. 
We'll live to forget this sad parting and pain." 

Then Daisy and Mamie came toddling by. 
And wondered why mamma and Birdie should cry ; 
Embracing I kissed them full twenty times o'er. 
And out from their presence my bosom I tore. 



68 CYPEESS LEAVES. 

Then, leaving my home and my darlings behind, 
We speed o'er the rail like the wings of the wind ; 
And soon in the air of the broad, rolling West, 
The warm blood of life courses fast through my 

breast. 
I found in that valley of wonders untold 
What twelve years of struggle had failed to unfold ; 
Both health and prosperity came with the tide. 
And currents of happiness rolled by my side. 

I sent for my family that they, too, might see 
What fortune had granted for them and for me. 
And when they came on my bosom was blest 
As the bosoms that heave in that haven of rest. 
The bondage of want in a moment gave way 
To freedom, which comes with prosperity's day, 
When the greed of the bondsman no more could 

oppress. 
And the lust of the landlord could never distress. 

When the doctor concluded this story, the boat had 
already touched the landing at Minnetonka Beach. It 
took some time to transfer passengers at this point, as 
a great many get on here for the short excursion to the 
head of the lake and back. Who has not observed 
with what interest spectators watch passengers as they 
go aboard or leave a vessel or train of cars, even 
though they have no friends to welcome or say fare- 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 59 

well to ? What causes this curiosity is hard to tell, 
unless it be the appearance of strange faces or the 
possibility of never again seeing those that are leaving. 
And who has not noticed with what apparent thought- 
lessness and sense of security persons will board a 
vessel or train, never thinking that they give their 
lives for the time being to the safe-keejjing of the 
engineer or pilot ! From our elevated position on 
the bow of the hurricane-deck we admired the smil- 
ing faces and gay costumes of the ladies and their 
escorts till the last passenger had been transferred, 
and the vessel backed out from the landing and was 
again on her way. I then suggested that we go down 
to the ladies' parlor for refreshments. A general con- 
sent being given to this invitation, we all descended 
to the parlor, and sat down around a marble-top table. 
I ordered some cake and a couple bottles of champagne, 
and while we were enjoying the sparkling beverage 
the doctor gave us the following story : 

OUR FIRST YEAR IN THE NORTH-WEST. 

Summer had gone like a phantom, and autumn 
now lay on the threshold ; 

Autumn with fruits ever golden and leaves 

of yellow and crimson. 

Now the atmosphere hazy shone o'er the • 

broad Mississippi, 



60 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Shone like the Indian summer or 

smoke from burning prairies. 
Where in days long forgotten down from 

the hills and the meadows 
Came in herds the wild buffalo to bathe 

in the Father of Waters ; 
Now from the highlands and grain-fields farmers 

have gathered the harvest. 
And in the barns of the peasant is heard 

the sound of the thresher. 

As in days that are vanished stretched 

the trail of the red man 
Through a forest of birchwood over 

the grassy prairies. 
And the Sioux and Dakotas hunted 

the deer and the bison ; 
Now on the banks of that river stretch 

the streets of a city. 
Past the buildings of commerce, through 

a forest of dwellings. 
And the merchant and tradesman greedily 

hunt one another, 
While the doctor and lawyer gather the spoils 

of the battle. 

After long days of searching for rooms 

both neat and convenient, 



CYPRKSS LEAVES. 61 

Not very far from my office I had found 

a neat little cottage. 
This had I rented and furnished, and lai.d in 

a store of provisions. 
Knowing that rest would be welcome to Bessie 

and three little children. 
After their journey to meet me from far off 

West Pennsylvania, 
Rest for a night would be welcome, and sleep both 

sweet and refreshing. 



Maples there stood round the cottage like sentinels 

guarding the door- way. 
And over the roof of the dwelling the leaves 

were flying and falling ; 
Falling in richest profusion were leaves of 

the maple and cotton. 
And over the children's play-ground were heaps 

of golden and crimson. 
Here from morning till evening the children 

sported and gambolled ; 
Called to the birds in the branches that sported 

and gambolled above them ; 
Caught at the leaves that were falling, and tossed 

them again to the breezes ; 
Swung in the hammock when tired, or carried 

food for the chickens. 



63 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Built of small boards a play-house, and used 
the leaves for a carpet ; 

Fed the chicks in their cages, fed with 

corn the game rooster. 

Under the maple and cottonwood rolled and 
rippled their laughter, 

Clear as the voice of the clarion heard at 

the dawn of the morning. 

Soft and sweet as the zephyrs that play in 

the branches at noon-day. 

Now the chill blasts of December sweeping down 

from the northward 
Drove the children within doors ; housed them 

there for the winter ; 
Here all through the winter played they with 

blocks and with pictures. 
Letters sent to old Santa, and looked for the 

coming of Christmas. 
Or sung in a chorus of voices hymns from 

the Sabbath hymn-book ; 
Sang of the heavenly mansions, and of how 

Jesus loves little children ; 
Sang of the beautiful river, and flowers 

in Paradise blooming ; 
Sang of a city eternal, with gates of 

pearl and jasper ; 



CYPRESS LEA VES. 63 

Sang of a youth ever vernal, and sweet as the 

morning of childhood ; 
Sang of the heavenly glory, while mamma 

played on the organ. 
Then when the weather permitted went to 

the Sabbath-school often ; 
Went with their mamma on Sunday to Sabbath-school 

nearest our dwelling. 



Christmas came with its presents, presents for each 

of the children, 
And New Year cold and chilly, with snow that 

dazzled and blinded. 
But though the winter was dreary, yet we were 

happy and cheerful. 
Blessed with health and prosperity, knowing 

no want or affliction. 
Now came the thaws of the spring-time, and the 

snow and ice disappeared. 
And the warm sun of the noon-day shone through 

the small cottage windows. 
The trees that circled our dwelling shook off 

their crystallized garments. 
And broke into buds and blossoms at the 

warm approach of the sunlight. 
The birds appeared in the branches and sang their 

songs of rejoicing, 



04 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

As by magic the grass and the flowers sprang 

to new life and new histre. 



The children broke from the cottage as prisoners 

break from a prison, 
And laughed and shouted in rapture to see 

all nature rejoicing. 
Then Bessie bought them a playmate, a 

beautiful curly Newfoundland ; 
Eight from the breasts of its mother she carried 

it home for the children. 
Many a frolic had Carlo with the little 

girls under the shade trees. 
When Carlo was lying and sleeping the girls used his 

sides for a pillow ; 
And when they went walking at evening the dog 

was their guard and protector. 
Daisy and May had two playmates, sweet little girls 

of our neighbor ; 
Gracie and May kept them company all through 

the beautiful spring-time. 
All through the long months of summer played 

with them under the shade-trees. 
Birdie then wanted a carriage, wanted a 

pony to draw it ; 
So Bessie bought them a carriage, and I bought 

a horse white and gentle. 



CTPRE8S LEAVES. 65 

Many a ride in the evening had they with 

Frank and the carriage ; 
Many a journey by daylight out to the 

falls Minnehaha ; 
Many and happy the journeys out to the 

lakes and the waterfalls. 
Often taking for company Carlo the 

curly Newfoundland. 
Then in the long summer evenings took we 

the children by twilight 
Far out the beautiful avenues, sometimes returning 

by moonlight. 
Often the babies were sleeping when we 

returned to the cottage. 
Thus passed the beautiful summer ; the first twelve 

months in the North-West 
Passed like a primitive Eden, blessed with 

joys never ceasing ; 
Joys too sweet to be lasting ; happiness doomed 

to be blasted. 

As the doctor finished this part of his story we 
heard the big bell ring, and supposing we were near- 
ing some landing, we all went out on to the passenger 
deck, when we discovered that we were passing the 
Narrows. We leaned over the side-railing to see how 
the great vessel crowded the water out of the channel 
in passing, and were pleased to see how it rushed in 



66 VTPRESS LEAVES. 

again and filled up the channel after the vessel had 
passed out. " That/' said my wife, " goes to prove 
a maxim in philosophy, that no two bodies can occupy 
the same space at the same time/' " Oh, yes, I re- 
member," replied Mrs. Clifton ; "I learned that 
Avhile I was at boarding-school ; ' and the amount of 
water displaced by the hull of the vessel is inversely 
as its specific gravity.' Am I not correct, Cyrus ?" 
" I am afraid not, my dear," replied the doctor ; "I 
guess you had a very liberal matron at your boarding- 
school, and that the fine arts were pursued to the 
great neglect of the sciences." His wife looked at 
him very suspiciously as she inquired, " Which of the 
fine arts, doctor, do you refer to ?" ''' The feminine 
arts, of course," he replied, " such as banging the 
hair, painting the lips and cheeks, and pencilling the 
eyebrows ; filling a cavity or compressing a bulge, 
and thus beautifying, adorning, and correcting where 
mother nature had been prolix or deficient." These 
remarks created a great laugh, and Mrs. Clifton now 
warned the doctor that she was considerably in his 
debt, but would make a full settlement in the fu- 
ture. " I don't know anything about philosophy," 
said the doctor, ''but I know that the amount 
of champagne displaced is in exact ratio with the de- 
pletion of the doctor's purse." ''And I suppose," 
added my wife, " that the amount of ardent spirits 
used is in exact proportion to the amount of evil 



CYPRESS LEA VES. 67 

spirits infused into the man." ''Yes," I replied, 
''or animal spirits diffused from a woman." Mrs. 
Clifton thought it would be better for both sexes and 
the human race generally if all intoxicants were 
transfused to the gutter. My wife said she was sure 
the liquor license had been abused, and hoped that 
the drinking habit would soon pass into " innocuous 
desuetude." Dr. Clifton seemed somewhat confused 
at the drift the conversation was taking, and asked 
to be excused from giving any further opinion on the 
subject. As I observed the faces of the ladies were 
becoming suffused, I suggested a trip to the hurricane- 
deck, and thought the children might be amused by 
seeing the jiilot turn the wheel. The children danced 
with joy at this proposition ; so we all returned again 
to the hurricane-deck, where the two ladies and 
Dr. Clifton sat down under the canopy. I asked the 
ladies if they could entertain the doctor while I and 
the children went up to see the pilot ; they replied 
that the doctor should entertain tliem. So I took the 
children, one in each hand, and ascended the steps to 
the pilot-house. We found the pilot to be an ex- 
ceedingly pleasant and congenial fellow. He invited 
us all to a seat in the pilot-house, where the children 
were wild with curiosity, and asked no end of questions 
about the wheel and how it guided the big boat, and 
about the many ropes that led to the whistle, the big 
bell, and the engineer's room. After I had left Avith 



68 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

the children my wife urged Dr. Clifton to continue 
his story. He looked out upon the water for some 
time in silence. " Can you tell me," he inquired, 
" what land that is we are approaching ?" My wife 
said she thought it was Spring Park. " Strange/' 
he replied ; '"^the leaves on the trees look from here 
as though they were already turning." His face now 
assumed its usual expression of extreme sadness as he 
thus began : 

THE FEVER. 

Now Summer folds her verdant robes 

And lays her sceptre by. 
And Nature sees her queenly form 

Departing with a sigh. 

The shadows long and deep and dark 

Athwart the threshold fall. 
And fading leaves on every tree 

Hang o'er us like a pall. 

A pale thin form with moiu-ning weeds 

Now enters at the door. 
Whose ghastly form upon our hearth 

Shall linger evermore. 

Now tokens dark our pulses chill 
Of death's approaching power — 

The watch-dog howling on the hill 
At midnight's lonely hour ; 



CYPRESS LEAVES. r)9 

The white horse neighing in the stall 

When waiting to be fed ; 
The death watch ticking in the wall 

Close by our children's bed. 

The looking-glass that lately hung 

Upon the parlor wall 
Has snapped the cord from which it swung 

And broken by the fall. 

Appalling visions of the night 

Now wake me from repose ; 
I saw the muddy waters deep 

Around my children close. 

Then starting from my troubled sleep 

I gaze upon their bed ; 
Their little faces seem to me 

Like faces of the dead. 

I hear them talking of their plays 

And breathing short and deep ; 
Then springing quickly to their side, 

I wake them from their sleep. 

I fondly kiss their troubled lips. 

And breathe a fervent prayer 
That God would bless and keep them safe ; 

Then to my couch repair. 



70 CYPRESS LEA VES 

Then Birdie first began to fail 

And lose her love for play, 
While fever spots upon her cheeks 

Grew brighter day by day. 

Not having taste for healthy food, 

And troubled was her rest, 
While thick, and dark the fevered blood 

Went bounding through her breast. 

*' Pray tell me now, papa," she said, 
*' Why my poor head should ache ? 

Why through my heart there flies a dart. 
As if the cords would break ? 

^'A heavy feeling clogs my breath 

And to my brain extends ; 
While down my arm the lances dart 

Clear to my finger-ends. 

" Prepare me, mamma, for my bed ; 

Put on my new white gown ; 
And when my evening prayer is said. 

Then lay me softly down. 

" There, that will do ; now then your hand 

Beneath my pillow keep. 
And let me kiss you all good-night 

Before I fall asleep. 



CTPRESS LEAVES. 71 

" I'll see you in the morning, May, 

Good-night, sweet golden-head ; 
You'll not forget my faithful dog. 

And see that Frank is fed." 

Thus Birdie took her bed of pain 

With hot and aching head, 
And many anxious days and nights 

We watched beside her bed ; 

But never once heard her complain 

Nor wish that she was well ; 
The Godlike patience she displayed 

No mortal tongue can tell. 

At last the raging fever broke. 

And quiet was her rest ; 
But left her feeble as a child 

Upon its mother's breast. 

Her little hands so pale and thin 

Upon her bosom lay. 
That whether living hands or dead 
' Were difficult to say. 

Her feeble mind was childish, too. 

And longed for childish things ; 
We bought her then a handsome doll. 

And golden finger-rings. 



TZ CYPRESS LEAVES. 

A rabbit for a pet we bought 

Our darling to surprise, 
With fur as soft as eider-down. 

And large and lustrous eyes. 

But slowly came her wasted strength. 

Her convalescence slow. 
Till from her weary bed at length 

We dared to let her go. 

Next Daisy Dell began to dwine 
And hang her little head. 

And fever-spots upon her cheeks 
Grew livid, dark, and red. 

Then spoke the idol of our home, 
'' Come, take me out, ma, please ; 

I want to see the children come 
And play beneath the trees. 

" I want to see my Carlo dog 

About the garden run, 
And see again my pussy-cat 

Lay sleeping in the sun. 

" I want to see my horsie gray 
Drink water at the spring ; 

I want to see my chickies play. 
And hear the birdies sing." 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 73 

" 0, Daisy, most beloved child ! 

I fain would let you go ; 
To hear your pleading breaks my heart. 

But prudence answers no. 

" A fever now like ^Etna's fires 

Consumes my darling child ; 
If I should lose my household pet, 

The loss would drive me wild." 

The fever now raged fierce and high. 

And wild delirium came ; 
Her little head and hands and feet 

Were burning like a fiame. 

Pneumonia soon her lungs involve. 
And smothered comes her breath ; 

And fatal symptoms now arise 
Presaging speedy death. 

Then in my large reception-room 

I felt a queer unrest, 
And all my business failed to still 

The flutter in my breast. 

I tried to write a note or two, 

A bill or two I filed ; 
But still before my anxious mind 

I saw my dying child. 



74 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

So in despair I took my hat. 
Closed up my business-room ; 

I knew that something had gone wrong 
Within my humble home. 

Her grandma met me at the door. 
The tear stood in her eye : 

" Your Daisy has grown sudden worse 
We fear that she will die." 

I reached her side without a word. 
And saw her panting sighs ; 

And saw the light had disappeared 
From her large, lustrous eyes. 

Although before the hour was spent 

I could on banquets fed. 
My appetite that moment went. 

And sank my heart like lead. 

For three long anxious days and nights 
We nursed our dying child, 

And heard her shrieking cries of pain. 
And saw her struggles wild. 

Poor Birdie wept for Daisy then. 
And wished her out of pain. 

And prayed her little sister might 
To health return ao^ain. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 75 

Exhausted now was all our strength. 

How could we hope for more ? 
"When thi'ee kind Christian women came 

Unto our cottage-door. 

Like sunbeams breaking through the storm 

To sailors tempest-tossed, 
When loud they hear the shrill alarm 

Of " Breakers ! we are lost !" 

So came these women just in time 

To save our foundering bark. 
When whitecaps rose along the line. 

And all seemed strangely dark. 

Oh, magic hand of woman sent 

To soothe the burning brow ! 
In sorrow or in sickness lent. 

An angel then art thou. 

Now, calling up my wasted strength 

When succor had come nigh, 
I marked the little panting breath, 

I watched the lifeless eye. 

I kept my finger on the pulse 

All through the anxious night. 
And prayed that God would heal our child 

Before the morning light. 



76 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

The clock had passed the midnight hour. 

And all was still as death ; 
I sat beside my dying child, 

And marked her panting breath. 

The respiration fell to ten, 
The pulse was like a thread ; • 

I thought the fatal hour had come. 
And snatched her from the bed. 

I placed her on her mother's knee. 
And summoned all my power 

To keep the flick'ring spark of life 
From dying out entire. 

Thick darkness now my vision clouds ; 

What chokes my coming breath ? 
I faint ! I fall ! what mortal man 

Can stay the hand of death ? 

I cannot say how I revived 

Or how my spirit came. 
But sometimes wish the book of fate 

Had closed upon my name. 

But this I know, a heavy cord 
Seemed drawn my throat acrost ; 

And when the light again appeared. 
It seemed that all was lost. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 77 

I felt so weary then of breath 

As deep I heaved a sigh, 
I thought, " If this can now be death. 

It must be sweet to die." 

It seemed as if, in one short Avink, 

Oblivion came to save, 
And all my griefs and sorrows sink 

Deep in the silent grave. 

I felt like sinking down, down deep. 

Beneath the feather-bed, 
To sleep that long, eternal sleep, 

Among the silent dead. 

But fate, it seems, had not decreed 

That Daisy death should see ; 
Nor did the Reaper see the need 

Why death should come to me. 

For death is a coquettish maid. 

Who will not courted be ; 
She'll come when Ave have ceased to sue. 

When, courted, she Avill flee. 

Back came the light to Daisy's eyes. 

Her pulses firmer beat ; 
Her lips assumed a crimson flush. 

Her breathing more complete. 



78 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

When I beheld those eyes of light 

Smile ou me once again. 
My star of hope, that sank that night, 

Kose like a diadem. 

But oh, how thin and j)ale her form, 
How haggard was her brow ! 

They who had seen this child in health 
Would scarce have known her now. 

She asked to see her rabbit then, 
She called her sister May ; 

She clasped her arms about her neck, 
And kissed her where she lay. 

" Do Grace and May desire to see 
Their little playmate now ?" 

She asked her mamma every day. 
In accents sweet and low. 

The loving ones were now restored 
For whom our spirits yearn ; 

But perfect health to their frail forms 
Shall nevermore return. 

As close we fold them to our hearts, 
The flowers the spirit gave, 

We felt that back they came to us 
From out the silent grave. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 79 

The boat had already landed at Spring Park when 
the doctor ceased speaking. Thanking the pilot for 
his courtesy, I had taken the children and rejoined 
the company. The boat made but a short stop at 
Spring Park, and again we were on our way toward 
Shady Isle. The scene that now lay before us was 
one of transcendent beauty. Shady Isle, with its oaks 
and elms and green lawns, lay to the right, while half 
hidden among the trees stood the beautiful and home- 
like Hotel Harrow. Idylv/ild and Hazeldene could 
be seen far ofE to our left, while the Enchanted Island 
loomed up grandly before us. " What an inspiration 
for the painter or poet !" I exclaimed. " Yes," re- 
plied Mrs. Clifton ; ''if it were not that I know this 
to be earth and not heaven, I could almost imagine 
we were nearing the shores of the celestial world; that 
we were sailing on its crystal seas, and catching the 
odors of the immortelles that grow on the banks of 
the Kiver of Life." " One can imagine they hear the 
exquisite music of golden harps, and catch the me- 
lodious swell of angel voices ; and I sometimes think," 
replied my wife, '*' that it would not be a difficult 
thing for an all-powerful God to transform this earth 
into a veritable heaven. With one sweep of His hand 
to wipe out sorrow, sin, and death, and with the other 
hand substitute joy, purity, and eternal life ; to sub- 
stitute love for hate ; to replace age Avith perpetual 
youth ; to banish wars for eternal peace ; to break 
tlie cerements of the tomb, and call our loved and 



80 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

lost back to our arms ; in short, to restore to Adam's 
race the lost paradise, and then come Himself and 
reign over us." "A very beautiful thought, truly," 
replied Dr. Clifton ; " but I fear the millennium is 
very far distant. For one, I believe that such a happy 
epoch is in the very nature of things impossible ; 
for if there be a God, which I neither assert nor deny. 
He is in perfect harmony with all His works, and 
never has and never will suspend one of the estab- 
lished laws of nature. Now, if the law holds good 
that like produces like, human nature must remain the 
same to all ages ; for if it were possible for a child to 
be born and grow to manhood without envy, jealousy, 
avarice, lust, and ambition, and exempt from sorrow, 
sickness, and death, such a being would not be human. 
It would have no feelings in common with us nor we 
with it — in fact, it would be altogether lonely and out 
of place among humans, and would have to seek com- 
panionship elsewhere ; for the poet has truthfully said : 

" ' For we are the same our fathers have been, 
We see the same sights our fathers have seen ; 
We drink the same stream and view the same sun. 
And run the same race our fathers have run. 

*' 'The thoughts they were thinking we also would think, 
From the death they Avere shrinking we also would 

shrink ; 
To the life they were clinging we also would cling, 
But it speeds for us all like a bird on the wing.'" 



CTPBESS LEAVES. 81. 



"Yes, I have often admired those beautiful lines," 
replied my wife ; ''and from the way you tell your 
story, I believe you have been courting the heavenly 
muse yourself and have learned to tune the golden lyre. 
You no doubt have been sitting at the feet of Orpheus, 
and have learned to ride on the wings of Pegasus." 
"Indeed you flatter me," he responded; "I can 
claim nothing either by birth, genius, or education to 
warrant the assertion or merit the praise. But I am 
happy to say that I am and always have been an en- 
thusiastic admirer of the poets." " But why is it," 
continued my wife, "• tliat all physicians are naturally 
sceptical ? For my part, I don't see how any intelli- 
gent man can doubt the existence of a Supreme Be- 
ing. I admit no * ifs ' in my faith." " If the study of 
medicine," he replied, "teaches anything, it teaches 
that man is a material being. If he has a spiritual 
nature, we are not able to comprehend it. The prac- 
tice of medicine teaches nothing to the contrary. It 
is hard for us to believe that which we can't com- 
prehend. That the body exists is a self-evident 
fact Avhieli needs no proof. That a spirit exists in 
connection with the body we can't prove by any 
means yet known to science. That the earth and 
universe exist is self-evident. How and when they 
had a beginning is a question. That a God created 
and now controls them is something which the wisest 
men have as yet failed to prove. We believe many 
things," continued the doctor, "because we were 



S2 CYPRESS LEAVES 

taught them in childhood by our parents, and we 
hold such teachings as sacred ; and thus teachings 
and traditions have been handed down from parent to 
child for many hundreds of generations which, when 
investigated by the light of science and reason, have 
no foundation in fact," '* I don't like such reasoning/' 
replied my wife ; " you but echo the opinions of Paine 
and Ingersoll." "^ I warn you. Dr. Clifton," I now 
said, ''against getting into an argument with my wife 
on the subject of religion. It is a great subject, and 
you know the old saying, ' A woman will have the last 
word.' Come, Mrs. Clifton,"! said, taking that lady's 
arm, " we will take the children down to the dining- 
room and discuss ice-cream and cake, while the doctor 
and my wife discuss theology." " Hold on," said Dr. 
Clifton ; ''this is my treat ; turn about is fair play." 
So saying he took my wife's arm and led the way to the 
dining-room, while we followed. We sat down around 
a table, and while enjoying the delicious flavor of 
vanilla and lemon, the doctor thus continued his 
story : 

HOME AT LAST AND A HAPPY CHKISTMAS. 

Now our children had recovered 
From the fever's poison breath. 

But we thought the little cottage 
Was the nursery of death ; 



CYPEESS LEAVES. 83 

For the neighbors early warned us 

Of the poison lurking there ; 
Of the damp and slimy subsoil 

Sending out its fatal air. 

Every day about the city 

Sought we then with anxious care 
For a home upon the highlands 

Free from pestilential air ; 
For a home upon the summit 

Of some high suburban hill, 
Where the virgin air of heaven 

Each expanding lung should fill. 

On the bluffs to westward sloping 

Stood a dwelling neat and high. 
Flashing back the fire at sunset 

To the glory in the sky. 
This we purchased for a homestead. 

Saying, as we paid the fees, 
" Surely now we shall be happy. 

Free from sickness and disease." 

In the closing months of autumn 

And the cold November chill 
Moved we all our earthly treasures 

To our homestead on the hill ; 



84 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

To our dwelling overlooking 
All the city reaching forth. 

And the river like a serpent 

Creeping downward from the north. 

Spared we neither cash nor labor 

That our home might be complete. 
And we laid the richest carpets 

Underneath our children's feet. 
J'urnished, too, both rare and costly 

Was each chamber, room, and hall ; 
Many paintings rich and cheerful 

Plung upon the parlor wall. 

" Papa," said our daughter Birdie, 

" Much I love these paintings fine. 
But much more I long to hang here 

Something done by brush of mine ; 
Much I love the brush and palette. 

Much admire the canvas bright ; 
Oh, that I might paint the landscape 

Seen from this commanding height !" 

** Then, my darling, name your teacher. 
You shall go this very day ; 

You shall paint yon glowing landscape, 
Then your mamma's face portray. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 85 

And the firstlings of your genius^ 

By your gentle fingers traced, 
Shall with golden frames be mounted 

And upon our walls be placed." 

Traced she first a bunch of blossoms 

From the apple's early bloom. 
Which so close resembled nature 

That their color seemed -perfume. 
One would pause to catch the odor 

From the gold-encircling frame. 
Fragrant as the sacred mem'ry 

Of the artist's angel name. 

Next she sketched a glassy river, 

With a bridge that arched it o'er 
From the rocky earth embankment 

To the verdant other shore. 
To a land with trees and flowers, 

And a path that upward bore ; 
One would think the child was painting 

Scenes from Canaan's happy shore. 

" One more lesson now, dear papa, 

Then my picture will be done ; 
. Then you'll hang it near the window. 
Where 'twill catch the morning sun. 



86 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

I must touch the clouds with silver 
In the sky to make them gleam. 

And must mark the rocky archway 
In the bridge that spans the stream. 

One more lesson ! oh, my daughter, 

How my aching heart does break ! 
Those last touches to her picture 

Birdie never lived to make. 
And the picture still unfinished 

Hangs before our weeping eyes, 
But tlie lesson that is wanting 

Birdie took above the skies. 

Now the Christmas days are coming. 

And the little ones at home 
All are Christmas carols humming 

In a merry monotone. 
Now they think they hear old Santa 

Bringing joy to every one, 
Bringing presents for the children 

Ere the Christmas day shall dawn. 

Christmas came as cold as Greenland, 
Freezing ice and drifting snow ; 

But the blazing fires within doors 
Made our homestead all aglow. 



CTPRESS LEAVES. 87 



Bright and early woke the children, 
And into their stockings peep, 

Which they hung beside their pillows 
As they laid them down to sleep. 

" Oh, that darling good old Santa \" 

Little Daisy cried with joy 
When she saw her golden necklace 

And her candies, books, and toy ; 
Wlien she saw her dress of cherry, 

AVith its buttons shining bright, 
Then her little heart was merry, 

And she danced with pure delight. 

Then said Birdie, " Here's a necklace. 

Just the thing that I can use ; 
Here's new books and gloves and stockings, 

And a pair of new kid shoes. 
And I've got a new portmantu, 

But I know from whom they came ; 
For the saint we call old Santa 

Only now exists in name." 

Little Mamie ran to Bessie, 
Saying, " See my golden chain. 

And my little cherry dressie. 

Which from grood old Santa came. 



88 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

And my picture books and candies, 
And my gloves so warm and white, 

And my little shoes and stockies, 
"What I dreamed about last night," 

In the room beside the parlor 

Stood a glowing Christmas tree 
Bending down with lovely presents 

For the little children three. 
And the pantry close adjoining, 

With its load of cakes and pies, 
And the turkey stuffed and shining. 

Was too much for Daisy's eyes. 

Dressed in bright and glowing colors. 

All their happy songs they sung, 
While upon their throbbing bosoms 

Golden chains in lustre hung. 
" Now we'll have a dance," said Birdie, 

" While I on the organ play ; 
Papa, you shall dance with Daisy ; 

Mamma, you shall dance with May." 

This so pleased the' little children 
That they all began to shout. 

And we danced about the parlor 
Till we all were tired out. 



CYPRESS LEA VES. 89 

Daisy then climbed to my bosom, 

Pressed her lips against my own, 
Said, " You are my own dear papa. 

And this is our happy home. 

*' Here we'll live with you forever. 

Mamma, Birdie, May, and me ; 
Nothing shall our fond hearts sever. 

Oh, how happy we shall be I" 
my Daisy ! my lost Daisy ! 

Can we, can we cease from weeping. 
When we think that o'er thy grave 

Death his silent watch is keeping ? 

Oh, that merry, happy Christmas ! 

And the love that blessed us then. 
And the hearts with joy o'erflowing, 

AVhich we ne'er shall know again. 
All that day a perfect love-feast 

Held we round the festal board ; 
Not one shed a tear of sorrow, 

Not one spoke a cruel word. 

Did we, did we love our children ? 

Love them ! oh, my God, forgive ! 
Had our love been less than worshi]), 

Now our little lambs might live ; 



90 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

But the angels stooping downward 

Saw our paradise below, 
And were jealous that weak mortals 

E'er such happiness should know. 

When the sun his race had ended 

Underneath a western cloud, 
And the darkness growing denser 

Seemed to wrap us like a shroud. 
On the tree the waxen candles. 

Throwing out their mellow light. 
Drove away the demon darkness, 

Scattered wide the shroud of night. 

Sat we then in silence watching 

Each expiring ray of light. 
**Look !" says Daisy, " now it droopeth ! 

Now a spirit takes its flight." 
*' Look !" says Birdie, " all have perished ! 

'Tis the last weak flame that dies ; 
Up another spirit mounteth 

To its mansion in the skies." 

Now the Cliristmas day is over, 

To our chamber we repair, 
And we kneel beside our loved ones, 

While they say their evening prayer. 



CTPBES8 LEAVES. 91 

Then Ave press them to our bosoms, 
Fondly kiss them, lay them down. 

Praying God to keep them safely 
For the Christmas yet to come. 



As the doctor ceased speaking we heard cheering 
on the deck, and hastened out to see what caused it. 
The beautiful steamer City of St. Louis was just 
passing. The passengers on her deck had saluted the 
Belle of Minnetonka, and the cheering was in re- 
sponse to her salutation ; for it is a sacred duty always 
to answer a salutation on water ; and he must be an 
inhuman wretch, devoid of soul and sympathy, who 
could refuse to do so. We now found that we were 
just passing the Enchanted Island. Crane, Wawatassu, 
and Eagle Islands lay to our left, while Smithtown 
Bay lay far to the south. The jubilee singers struck 
up a stirring plantation song, which entertained us 
for some ten or fifteen minutes. AVe had now entered 
a large arm of the lake, and were heading toward 
Phelps Island and Hardscrabble Point. I secured 
four chairs, and proposed that we be seated, while 
the doctor continued his story. We sat down in the 
identical spot Ave occupied in tlie morning when Ave 
began the excursion ; and as Mamie and May resumed 
their romp over the deck, Avhich had been interrupted 
by the accident Avhich had made us acquainted, the 



92 CTPMES8 LEAVES. 

doctor assumed his usual melancholy expression, and 
thus began : 

DAISY^S DEATH. 

The j^ath which leads down to the valley of Death, 
The hideous monster that stifles the breath, 

Lies always concealed from our vision. 
AYe often take voyage from life's golden strand. 
And think, as we journey to death's icy land. 

We are sailing to islands Elysian. 

The moment of parting cannot be foretold. 
The book of the future will never unfold 

To sorrowing mortals below. 
'Tis better, perhaps, that book should be sealed. 
And never to man his fate be revealed, 

Till Death his victim lays low. 

The old year was dying. The last of December 
Dawned dark and foreboding. Oh, must I remember 

What fate from my bosom did wrench ! 
When Daisy, my idol, rose up from her pillow. 
Where all night she tossed like the foam on the billow. 

With fever no water could quench. 

A sad premonition sank chill on my heart. 
And though I abjured it, it would not depart. 
That Daisy was passing away. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 93 

I tried hard to smother the grief that would rise, 
But still every moment found tears in my eyes 
All through the long, long winter day. 

" Oh ! cheer up," said Bessie, "the fever will break. 
And when she has slumbered our darling will wake 

From the pestilent infantile curse." 
But still the small pulse like lightning did fly, 
The membrane was forming, the gland's swelling high, 

And every dread symptom grew M^orse. 

We laid her at night in her soft little bed. 

But still she kept tossing with pain in her head. 

And " Water, cold water," she cried. 
The day seemed so dreary, the night seemed so long ; 
"Oh, Bessie ! there's something most dreadfully wrong, 

We will watch all night by her side." 

The midnight approacheth ! the old year is dying ! 
And now the death angel tlirough our home is flying. 

The branch from the olive is riven ! 
I took m}^ revolver, which gleamed in the light. 
And out in the gloom of that frosty night 

I fired it twice into heaven. 

Then, pausing a moment, I cannot tell why. 
Two meteors appeared from out the bright sky, 
Descending obliquely to earth. 



94 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Then, aiming my weapon almost in despair, 
I emptied three chambers upon the crisp air. 
Then quickly returned to her berth. 

The new year now dawned, which used to impart 
The pure oil of gladness to each happy heart. 

But brought to us sorrows untold. 
We heard the dog howling — an unlucky token; 
Oh, horror of horrors ! diphtheria has broken 

Unchecked 'mid the lambs of the fold. 

That brave little mortal in death's fatal boat 
Tore out the false membrane from her little throat. 

And fought like a hero for life, 
Till now her sweet voice grew husky and hoarse. 
And quick came her breathing, though feeble and 
coarse, 

And still more hopeless the strife. 

Cold, cold blew the north wind, how terribly cold ! 
And the terrors that midnight can never be told ; 

Poor Daisy's breath almost was gone. 
I called my good coachman and sent him in haste 
Far over the city, through night's gloomy waste. 

To call a physician well known. 

He came through the darkness with horse at full speed. 
And stopped at our window, when twice neighed the 
steed. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 95 

Like the death angel ringing his bell. 
It fell on our hearts like the chill dew of morning. 
And caused us to start like the sentinel's warning 

To soldiers asleep on the hill. 

Her sweet voice was smothered, no sound could com- 
mand. 
But she patiently waved with her thin little hand 

To what she wished us to do. 
I held her soft fingers, but felt they were going 
Far out iu the darkness to where there's no knowing : 

The clock in the steeple struck two. 

Still another day dawned but brought no relief. 
For life is a shadow and death is a thief. 

And one steals the other away. 
Life walks in the country ; death stalks in the city : 
One has no discretion, the other no pity 

To guide it by darkness or day. 

h\ vain we continued her little throat swabbing. 
With lips turning purple and heart quickly throbbing. 

Death marching remorselessly on. 
The quick respiration, the pulse madly bounding, 
The glazed eyes staring, the death-rattles sounding. 

Continued from nightfall to dawn. 

Each time we desired to apply the foul lotion, 
Or give to the child her small, bitter potion. 
She pleadingly asked us to wait. 



0(5 CYPRESS LEA VES. 

Oh, why should we wake the sweet soul from her 

dozing 
To lance that poor throat that already is closing ! 
In vain 'tis to struggle with fate. 

Those lips that had hastened so oft me to greet 
Disease had made foul as the filth in the street, 

And cheeks as lifeless as clay. 
And onward, still onward, as time kept revolving, 
Foul, foul were the odors of tissues dissolving. 

And tender glands breaking away. 

Oh, fathers, who know not diphtheria's curse. 
Ye mothers, who tenderly little ones nurse. 

Or worship one pure little mouth. 
When first your ear catches this pestilent cry 
Escape with your children, like fugitives fly 

Far, far to the bright, sunny South. 

Ye parents indulgent, who loved ones have missed. 
Or seen the grave cover the lips you have kissed. 

Oh, list what our babe had to say ; 
But if you had children who never were loved. 
Or can see breaking hearts with a heart all unmoved. 

Then throw this song idly away. 

'Twas the last night poor Daisy e'er saw upon earth. 
She asked that her mamma bend close o'er her berth. 
To catch what her lips had to say. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 97 

" Come, lift me, dear mamma, and dress me again ; 
Put on my new dressie, my sweet golden chain. 
And call sister Birdie and May. 

" Now make our sweet parlor as light as can be, 
And light the wax candles on my Christmas-tree, 

That sight shall banish this pain. 
I'm sick, oh ! so sick ; but let Birdie play. 
And mamma hold Daisy, Avhile papa and May 

Shall dance o'er the carpet again." 

Oh, how can these scalding tears ever be less. 
When we think of her wish in her dying distress 

To see us all happy once more ! 
The lamps will be lighted, the wax candles burn. 
But that little idol will never return 

To our hearts from that deep, silent shore. 

Vain, vain is the struggle ; down, down she must sink ; 
The pale boatman cometh, they meet on the brink 

Of the river which all must cross o'er. 
We heard the oars splashing, we saw the boat quiver ; 
Our Daisy had passed o'er the dark, flowing river, 

And stood on the evergreen shore. 

Mrs. Clifton and my wife and myself were all in 
tears long before the doctor had concluded this pa- 
thetic story. It was by a superhuman effort that he 



98 CYPRESS LEAVES 

controlled his own feelings till he finished his story ; 
but when the last word was uttered he leaned his head 
on the railing and wept like a child. It was easy to 
comprehend what a great loss the man had suffered 
in the death of this child. We sat for a long time in 
silence, while the other passengers on deck kept up 
an incessant chatter, and Mamie and May continued 
their romp. We were now passing Hardscrabble 
Point, at the entrance of Cook's Bay, and were at- 
tracted by a party of fishermen who had just landed 
some fine bass and sunfish, when the jubilee singers 
struck up that soul-stirring song, " Keep in de Middle 
ob de Road." Scarcely had the echo of this beautiful 
song died away when sweet strains of music from 
a cornet band came stealing across the waters of 
Cook's Bay. The effect upon the bleeding hearts of 
the doctor and his wife was almost magical. They 
raised their eyes, and their attention Avas immediately 
attracted to the direction whence the music came. 
We had already caught sight of the beautiful lawns 
and stately oaks that surround the Chapman House. 
We could see people on the bank waving handker- 
chiefs, and occasional flashes of light from the brass 
instruments on the veranda seemed to reach even to 
our vessel, as if in welcome. We were fully two miles 
away, but we waved our hats and handkerchiefs and 
cheered, and the echo came back to us from Chap- 
man's and Phelps Island. It was now near on to 



CYPRESS LEA VES. 99 

one o'clock, and we had been on the vessel since 
morning. I proposed, as soon as we landed, that we 
all take dinner at the Chaj^man House. As the pure 
air of the Upper Lake had sharpened our appetites, 
a general consent was at once given to this proposi- 
tion. We stood at the railing while the vessel was 
approaching, and feasted our eyes on the surrounding 
scenery. Chapman's presented another scene of gor- 
geous beauty, for which Minnetonka is so famous. 
The scenery at this extreme northern point on the 
lake we thought the most beautiful we had yet wit- 
nessed. As soon as the boat made a landing the en- 
tire load of passengers distributed themselves over the 
green lawn and under the tall shade trees about the 
hotel. Many families had brought baskets with them, 
and picnicked under the trees. We were among the 
number who sought the dining-room at the hotel. 
We were served with a very substantial dinner, in- 
cluding all the fish and game for which the lake is 
noted. After dinner we strolled out under the trees 
for a while, and finally came to rest at the foot of a 
great oak, whose spreading branches reached out over 
the water. We sat a few moments in silent admira- 
tion of the transparent lake and beautiful scenery. 
"Doctor," I at length broke the silence, "I beg 
pardon for recalling a subject which must be very 
painful to you, but we would take it as a favor to 
have you conclude the story of that little girl that you 



100 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

lost. I think you called her Daisy." " Ah, yes !" 
he said, as his eyes filled with tears ; " but the story 
of her life is ended. There is nothing more to tell 
except her burial. I now think it would have been 
better for me if Daisy had never been born. If I had 
never felt the pleasure of loving, I would never have 
known the pain of losing." He then clasped his 
hands, and gave utterance to this remarkable 

LAMENTATION FOR DAISY. 

Never to hear that musical voice ! 
Never to see that dear heart rejoice ! 
Never to feel her tender caress ! 
Never again her fond heart to press ! 

Never to see those bright eyes unclose, 
Soft as the blush of the new-blown rose ! 
Never to hang with love on those lips, 
Sweeter than nectar the honey-bee sips ! 

Oh ! sad be the morning the death angel came 
And cut from our circle that one darling name. 
The flower of our hope felt the withering blight. 
And sunk into darkness the star of our night. 

merciful Father ! why are we bereft ? 
That one little idol ! why was she not left ? 
Why are our heart-strings now broken with sorrow ? 
How lonely the night and sad comes the morrow ! 



CYPBE8S LEAVES. ^^^ 



Vile vile the disease that caused Daisy to die, 
And snatched the sweet sonl from that soft azure eye ; 
And be with dread horrors remembered for aye 
The pestilent curse that made Daisy its prey. 

Oh ' why, dearest child, is thy angel voice hushed, 
And why are our souls now in agony crushed f 
Thou hast flown from the bosoms thy infancy blessed. 
And forsaken the lips which thine have caressed. 

My heart's purple current should now cease to roll. 
And leap from my bosom this grief-stricken soul. 
Since nature has brought us to this fatal day. 
To see our loved Daisy from life torn away. 

AVhat we've lost with thee, Daisy, we never shall 

know ' 
Joy froze at its fountain when thou wert laid low ; 
Disaster chased hope on a desolate track. 
And the bright flood of bliss to its fountain rolled 

back. 

Our hearts break with anguish. Why could she not 

To ligM^our rough journey through life's lonely 

way ? 1 T 1.+ 

Must cruel death sever those eyes from the light. 
And earth hide forever her form from our sight . 



103 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Ye soft breathing zephyrs and winds sporting wild. 
Where now roams the spirit of this angel child ? 
Say, does she now hover o'er land and o'er sea. 
Or from yon shining temple gaze down upon me ? 

We were all deeply affected by the doctor's touching 
lamentation over the death of his favorite child, and 
not wishing to prolong nor rudely interrupt their 
grief, my wife and myself were at a loss to know how 
to change the theme, and therefore for a long time 
kept silence. At last my wife remarked rather ab- 
stractedly, as if talking to herself, " Death is indeed 
a mystery which we cannot comi^rehend any more than 
we can understand the mysteries of life." " Yes," 
replied Mrs. Clifton; ''it seems that what we call 
life is but animated dust, which may vanish before a 
passing breeze or dissolve beneath a summer shower. 
A babe is born, the quintessence of parental love, and 
grows into their affections from day to day, till it 
seems part of their own existence. In the morn- 
ing they feel its warm breath, see the spirit in its 
eyes, feel its little heart beat, hear the music of its 
voice, are thrilled by its smile, and they call it life ; 
but a change comes in the evening, and that which 
the mother folded with such raptures to her bosom is 
now cold and still, and they call it death ; and the 
parents feel that something has passed out of their 
lives. They . may try to remember it, but the sweet 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 103 

and tender feelings which that little life excited in their 
breasts will gradually vanish and be forgotten." " I 
have heard it said," remarked Dr. Clifton, who had 
now become more calm, "that 'it is better to have 
loved and lost than never to have loved at all.'' That 
may be true in reference to lovers generally, but I 
don't think it will hold when ajjplied to parental 
love." We now heard the big bell on the boat ring, 
which it always does fifteen minutes before leaving, 
in order to give the passengers warning to come 
aboard. The great number of happy excursionists 
who had been taking lunch or lounging on the grass 
under the trees now arose and slowly approached the 
landing. In a short time the decks were crowded 
and the last signal given. 

There is always some one late, and he came run- 
ning down the walk just as the gang-plank was swung 
and the vessel left the landing. We were soon again 
comfortably seated on the passenger-deck. " Now, 
Dr. Clifton," I remarked, ''I understand that we 
make no stops between here and Minnetonka Beach ; 
so as there is no danger of interruptions, we would be 
much pleased to have you continue your story." 
'' AVell, it seems that I must be faithful to my prom- 
ise," he replied, ''although I would gladly stop here, 
as the rest of my story is a very painful one." He 
assumed his usual melancholy expression as he thus 
bearan : 



104 CYPRESS LEAVES. 



BIEDIE^S DEATH. 

The night before ijoor Daisy's soul 

In anguish passed away, 
Our Birdie wept and prayed for her 

As on her bed she lay. 

But when we told her she was dead, 

At once she ceased to sob ; 
Her face assumed a calm, sweet look, 

Her bosom ceased to throb. 

" And is my little sister now 

An angel up in heaven ? 
And has she gone to dwell with those 

Whom Jesus has forgiven ?" 

She sighed so deep as thus she spoke. 

And even faintly smiled. 
We could not com]Drehend the change 

Which then came o'er our child. 

'Tis said a strange and sudden change 

Across the features play 
Of those whom cruel Death has marked 

For his relentless prey. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 105 

Birdie ! child supremely wise. 

Most gifted of the three, 
The fatal Reaper from the skies 

Is calling now for thee. 

For thee he takes his sickle keen, 

For thee his arrows speed ; 
The shafts of death must pierce thy soul, 

That kindred hearts may bleed. 

For thee no summer will return. 

For thee no flowers bloom ; 
But flowers j)laced by loving hands 

Shall blossom o'er thy tomb. 

Oh, spirit of the hidden muse. 

Come breathe upon my lyre, 
And teach this palsied hand to sweep 

Its chords of living fire ! 

The death that laid poor Daisy low 

On that cold wintry morn 
Had now begnn its fatal work 

On our dear eldest born. 

The fatal poison paled her cheek 

And chilled the crimson blood. 
And rolled upon her gentle heart 

Like Pluto's angry flood. 



106 . CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Cold water now was all her cry 
To cool her parched tongue. 

And pale as death became her face. 
As one by serpent stung. 

That night we sat beside her bed 
And watched her panting breath. 

While Daisy on her couch below 
Lay cold and pale in death. 

The Sabbath dawned, a day of rest 

To mortals here below ; 
But what a day of anxious toil ! 

What rushing to and fro ! 

The very worm that crawls the earth 
Should never feel such pain ; 

Dissolve this heart in silent dust 
Before it comes again. 

We saw within her fevered throat 

The ashy membrane form, 
And felt the bounding of the jiulse, 

Like lightning in a storm. 

Now to my coachman " Haste !" I cried, 
" Bring forth my faithful steed ; 

Like lightning to the city fly, 
For dreadful is the need. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 107 

'^ Tell Doctor Mason Daisy lies 

Now cold and pale in death, 
While Birdie on her dying bed 

Can scarcely draw her breath." 

His horse came foaming up the hill 

With nostrils streaming wide 
And eyes of fire, as though he saw 

Death's pale horse by his side. 

He listened to the failing heart. 

The closing throat did view. 
And saw the finger-nails assume 

A cyanotic hue. 

''And must we now," the mother cried, 

" Of Birdie's life despair ? 
And must she cross the flowing tide. 

To join her sister there ?" 

He left the room with troubled face. 
And thus he made reply : 
** This is a most malignant case ; 

I fear your child will die. 

** Whose child is this ?" the doctor said. 

As little May passed by ; 
" The last and youngest of the three," 

The mother did reply. 



108 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

" Let others for the dying care, 

Stop not to say good-by ; 
Let other hands the dead prepare, 

And with the living fly \" 

''And must I leave my dying child ?" 

The frantic mother cries ; 
" Shall she not have a mother's care 

Till death shall close her eyes ? 

''And must I leave that lifeless form 
Now wrapped in linen white, 
■ And with poor Mamie in my arms 
Our safety seek in flight ?" 

" You jeopardize the baby's life 

By staying in these halls ; 
Death now through every chamber walks. 

And loud his trumpet calls." 

She threw a little woolen shawl 

Close o'er the baby's head, 
And stealing forth she left to fate 

The dying and the dead. 

Oh ! think of this, ye parents fond. 
Who dote on childish forms ; 

A mother flying from her dead. 
With infant in her arms ! 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 109 

Not even allowed to see the dead. 

Approach the waiting bier. 
Nor on the little golden head 

To drop a farewell tear. 

Nor yet allowed to hold the hand 

Of her that dying lies ; 
To soothe her last departing breath, 

Then gently close her eyes. 

No wonder that for two long years 

No strength she seemed to gain, 
And melancholy seemed to sit 

Upon her tender brain. 

*'Now haste thee ! haste \" the doctor said, 

" These remedies prepare ; 
We'll beard the lion in his den. 

The tiger in his lair." 

Oh ! dreadful must the danger be 
AVhen bleeding hearts are brave ; 

1 sprang within my cutter there, 
And this commandment gave : 

'*■ Now, Charley, if you ever drove 

To save a parting breath. 
Screw ever tendon to the snap. 

And run a race with death." 



110 CYPRESS LEAVES. 



We darted down the sloping liill 

Like arrows from the bow>. 
Or like the hounds of William Tell 

Behind the mountain roe. 

The doctor's horse came close behind 
With bright and flaming eye, 

And passed us like an eagle's wing 
Across the stormy sky. 

As homeward then we bounding came 

The remedies to place, 
I saw before me in the way 

An old familiar face. 

I grasped my soldier brother's hand, 

Who sixteen years or more 
Had never pressed my open palm 

Nor entered at my door. 

He left my father's humble roof 
When youth myself retained. 

And buried in the great broad West 
Had ever since remained. 

'Twas lucky that this brave man came. 

That one of kindred blood 
Should tide us o'er the pointed rocks 

Of life's dark surging flood ; 



CYPEES8 LEAVES. HI 

Who powder-stained yet grimly stood 

Upon the battle-field. 
While charging spears or reeking swords 

Could make the foeman yield ; 

Who led his men through fields of blood. 

O'er mountains of the dead, 
While death in leaden tempests flew 

All round about his head. 

I gained my home and quickly passed 

Unto my darling's bed ; 
But clouds of trouble thick and fast 

Were breaking o'er my head. 

I asked her if she feared to die, 

She sweetly answered, " No," 
But said that she would like to live. 

If God would have it so. 

I called my brother to my aid, 

And such a fight with death 
Was never made by mortal men 

Since God has given breath. 

For five successive days and nights 

We watched the dying child. 
And marked the wasting of disease, 

And saw her struggles wild. 



112 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

A doctor's counsel uow Avas called. 
Who sage advice might give. 

To check thie onward march of death. 
And bid the child to live. 

But vain was all the help we called 
To stop the march of death ; 

The monster had her in his grasp, 
And smothered came her breath. 

Now grandma sat by Birdie's side. 
And never once removed ; 

For Birdie was her grandma's pet. 
The child she always loved. 

Poor little Daisy's angel form 
We could no longer keep. 

But must consign her sacred dust 
To its eternal sleej^. 

My brother James and I were all, 
AVith mam and baby May 

Who followed slow the little hearse 
On that cold wintry day. 

No word was read, no requiem sung. 
No useless prayers were said ; 

But silently we laid her down 
Within her narrow bed. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 113 

The towering pine-trees seemed to moan. 

The spruce began to sigh ; 
The sun went down behind a cloud 

Within the western sky. 

The yellow leaves dropped o'er her grave. 

The oak a branch did lend ; 
The little snow birds seemed to know 

That they had lost a friend. 

We could not wait to mark the grave 

With stick or roughened stone ; 
We turned our weeping eyes away. 

And left her there alone. 

For we had left another child 

In grandma's care at home. 
Nor knew how soon we'd follow her 

Unto the silent tomb. 

On our return I felt her pulse 

Still quick and bounding high. 
And saw the sure approach of death 

Within her languid eye. 

Our lovely dwelling, which of late 

Was filled with joy and mirth, 
A joy that lives in other worlds. 

And seldom visits earth. 



114 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Was now a hell of bitter tears. 
Where hearts in anguish moan, 

And every sound that met the ears 
Came laden with a groan. 

It seemed a pestilential curse 

Had fallen on us there, 
And seeds of death with every breath 

Came floating in the air. 

To eat or sleep is not the boon 

Of those with grief oppressed ; 
Prostrate with grief, I scarce could move. 
Yet found no place to rest. 

But think then of poor Bessie's fate. 

With Mamie on her knee. 
Who could not see her dying child. 

And dared not speak to me. 

Like prisoners from day to night 

Confined within a room. 
Expecting every passing hour 

The dreadful news to come. 

We called to grandpa in the street. 

And told the story o'er. 
Who to the mother and the child 

The mournful story bore. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 115 

I saw that Birdie soon must go. 

With heart so good and pure , 
But how could we without her love 

This lonely life endure ? • 

But Birdie had a living faith 

In Jesus and His love, 
Nor feared to die that she might tread 

The golden streets above. 

She prayed that Jesus would forgive 

The sins that she had done, 
Although her pure and spotless heart 

Had ne'er committed one. 

"1 know that Jesus unto Him 

All little children call ; 
But I am not a little child — 

Can I be saved at all ? 

** How shall I up to heaven get 

When this poor life is gone ? 
Will Jesus send His angels down 

To bear His children home ? 

''Now, grandma, will you kneel and pray. 

Ask Jesus to forgive. 
And when my life has passed away 

Take me with Him to live ?" 



116 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Her grandma prayed, and then she said, 

" Sing something soft and low ; 
I feel so very weak and faint 
• I know I soon must go. 

*' Sing ' Jesus, lover of my soul,^ 

And let my spirit fly 
To join my little sister Dell 

Above the bright blue sky.'^ 

Then grandma sang the dying child 
The hymn she loved so dear. 

And Birdie joined her feeble voice 
In accents sweet and clear. 

*' Now, Uncle James, will you please pray 

Before this poor life ends ? 
I knew your little daughter May ; 

We were the best of friends." 

The gray-haired soldier bowed his head. 

And close beside her chair 
The man of thirty battles knelt 

And offered up his prayer. 

She asked me now to pray for her ; 

I knelt beside her chair 
And offered up as best I could 

My broken-hearted prayer. 



CYP11ES8 LEA VE8. 1 1 T 

She leaned her head so gently then . 

Upon my bending brow, 
And grasped my hand so firm and tight 

I think I feel it now. 

" Now, Birdie, would you like to see 

Your ma and sister May ?" 
'' No, it is better," she replied, 

" That they should stay away ; 

" For sister May, you know, might take 

This dread disease and die ; 
Please tell them that for Birdie's sake 

They must not fret and cry. 

" I'll meet them in a better world 

All free from grief and pain ; 
Disease and death shall never drive 

Them from my side again. 

" Now, papa, you will always love 

My ma and sister May, 
And you will go to church with them 

On every Sabbath day. 

" Will those I love, with whom I spent 

My childhood's happy hours. 
Keep green my grave and plant it with 

The sweetest blooming- flowers ?" 



118 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

She called her pastor to her bed 
•That she his prayer might hear, 

And talk about the better land 
To her that seemed so near. 

She now seemed ready to depart, 

And quietly lay down ; 
Those large brown eyes she turned on us 

Were never known to frown. 

The sleep that tired nature needs 

AVas now to her refused ; 
If once she closed her eyes to sleep, 

Iler throat that moment closed. 

Then starting \ip witli streaming eyes 

1^0 catch a bi-eatli of air, 
She reached both hands as if for help, 

lint help was never there. 

And how slie bore so patiently 

1 cannot now conceive ; 
With no resistance, no complaint 

Nor wish that she might live. 

Just once she pressed her little heart 
And gentle moans did nuike. 

As if the silken cords within 
Were then about to break. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. HQ 

'Twas just tin hour or two before 

Her spirit passed away, 
I bent across her dying bed 

That she might hear me say : 

'* You're leaving us, our darling child. 

We ne'er shall see you more ; 
But Daisy's spirit you shall meet 

On Canaan's hap])y shore, 

" I'll go to church, as you have said. 

And care for ma and May, 
And never see them want for bread 

While in this world I stay." 

Her smothered breath was so near gone 

She could not speak a word. 
But nodded gently as I spoke ; 

I know my voice was heard. 

I could not see our Birdie die 

Nor hear her jjarting moan ; 
I left her side with bursting heart, 

AVhile groan succeeded groan. 

She must have heard my bitter cry 

In that sad dying hour, 
And seen above her bed of death 

The heavenly gates ajar. 



^'20 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

She must have got a glimpse of heaven 

And saints in beauty clad ; 
She looked above and whispered faint, 

'"Tis beautiful but sad." 

To see that happy land of rest 

Was beautiful indeed ; 
But sad to leave the ones she loved 

With mourning hearts to bleed. 

To earthly things she now was dead 

An hour before she went ; 
Her face became as black as lead. 

Her life was almost spent. 

She smothered as a fatal cord 

About her neck was tied. 
Her heart-strings broke, she sighed, she gasped. 

And in a moment died. 

So died the genius and the skill 

Which God with Birdie gave, 
And all her parents' fondest hopes 

Lie buried in her grave. 

But far above this vale of tears 

A purer light shall shine, 
And we shall clasp her radiant soul 

In a celestial clime. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 131 

We dressed our darling for her grave 

In satin robes of white ; 
For we must take the corpse away 

Before the shades of night. 

About her neck we gently place 

Her golden Christmas chain, 
And on her hand the ring she wore 

When fever racked her brain. 

And then her pure and sacred form 

We in her casket lay, 
And follow slowly to her tomb 

On that cold wintry day. 

On grandma, brother James and I 

The solemn task befell 
To follow to her cold damp grave 

The child we loved so well. 

No requiems chanted o'er her grave. 

No psalms or hymns were sung ; 
But silently, as falling leaves. 

The casket down was swung. 

But heaven wept in crystal tears 

That fell all through the night. 
And when another day had dawned 

Iler grave Avas out of sight. 



122 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

We were all overcome with grief as the doctor con- 
cluded the words of this touching narrative. I 
thought my wife much better qualified to speak words 
of sympathy than myself ; so without asking to 
be excused I arose, and taking the children, one in 
each hand, descended to the lower deck. We sought 
the engineer's room, and were kindly received. The 
children were wonderfully pleased to see the great en- 
gines at work, and to see the great shafts that turned 
the big wheels. They noticed that every time a 
little bell rang the man turned a small wheel which 
caused the engines to run fast or slow, or to stop alto- 
gether, and by raising a lever he could reverse the 
engines and make them run backward. The engi- 
neer explained that the pilot on top of the boat rang 
the bell, and then showed them the large boilers where 
the steam was generated that turned the engines and 
caused the boat to go. He explained that the boat 
was now in the narrows, which was the cause of the 
bell ringing so often, and why he had to make so 
many reverses and stops and starts. All this Avas a 
world of information for the children, which I am 
sure they will never forget. Thanking the man for 
his courtesy, and giving him a cigar, I took the chil- 
dren, ascended the steps, and rejoined the company 
just as we were nearing Minnetonka Beach. I found 
my wife busily engaged in conversation with Dr. 
and Mrs. Clifton, and that they were discussing the 



CYPRESS LEAVES. .133 

advisability of spending the balance of the day at the 
beach and Hotel Lafayette, and returning home by 
the evening tram. Mrs. Clifton asked me what I 
thought of the proposition. I replied, as it was now 
near three o'clock p.m., that I thought we might 
spend a couple of hours very pleasantly at Minne- 
tonka Beach. " Very well, then," said Dr. Clifton ; 
" the vote is unanimous for the beach, and here is the 
landing." Just as he uttered these words the keel of 
the vessel grated on the sand, and the gang-plank was 
lowered. It seemed now that a great many others 
were of the same opinion as ourselves ; so that when 
all had disembarked who desired to do so, there were 
very few left to return to Wayzata. We walked leis- 
urely up the beach, crossed the railroad-tracks, spent 
a half hour or more in promenading through the 
park and admiring the fountains, flowers, and ever- 
greens, and finally came to a halt on the veranda 
of the great hotel. The large willowy chairs were so 
inviting, the music from the band so thrilling, and 
the lake scenery so charming, we instinctively became 
seated without taking a vote on the subject. The 
band was playing " The Beautiful Blue Danube,"' 
and when the delicious and love-inspiring strains of 
that waltz had died away, I urged the doctor to con- 
tinue his story. He took little Mamie on his knee, 
smoothed her rich chestnut curls, kissed her^ and 
thus began : 



1^4 CYPRESS LEAVES. 



MAMIE^S LAMENTATION. 

A baby's grief may seem a trifling thing, 
But Mamie's sorrow, heavenly goddess, sing, 
^hough but four summers o'er her head had flown. 
She wept her playmates' death, her sisters gone. 
Her tender years had seen the hand of Death, 
And just escaped his all-destroying breath. 

When Daisy's soul in anguish passed away. 
And cold in death her little body lay. 
Our baby May was heard the whole day long 
To pour her soul in this sad, plaintive song : 

" God's children are gathering home. 
Never to sorrow more, never to roam. 
Gathering home, gathering home, 
God's children are gathering home." 

Unspoken grief her little heart possessed. 
And thus she sobbed upon her mother's breast : 

CHILD. 

No, dear mamma, oh, no, no ! 

Tell me not ! oh, say not so ! 
I will call her back again ; 

We can never let lier go. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 125 



MOTHER. 



That, my child, you cannot do. 

For beyond the ether bkie 
Daisy stands with open arms 

Waiting now to welcome you. 

CHILD. 

Tell me not my playmate's gone. 

Never, never to return. 
Or my little heart shall break ; 

How these scalding tear-drops burn ! 

Will she come at break of day ? 

MOTHEK. 

No, my darling angel May. 

CHILD. 

Will she come on Sunday morn ? 

MOTHER. 

No ; from earth she's passed away. 

CHILD. 

When the snow has gone away. 
And there comes a sunny day. 

Then will sister Daisy come ? 

Mamma, won't she ? Mamma, say ? 



126 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

MOTHEK. 

No, my child, she's passed away. 

CHILD. 

"When the flowers come in the spring, 
And the birds are on the wing, 

Shall I see my sister then ? 

See her smile and hear her sing ? 

MOTHER. 

No, my child ; with Christ, the King, 
Daisy's flowers are blossoming. 

CHILD. 

In the merry month of May, 

When the flowers are bright and gay. 
And the birds sing in the trees. 

Will she come with me to play ? 

MOTHER. 

No, my little baby May ; 

Much it grieves to say you nay. 
But she sees the living trees 

Which by Eden's bowers stay. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 12'? 



CHILD. 

Why this little box so light, 

And the gown so pure and white ? 

Must we leave her here alone 

Through the long and silent night ? 

MOTHER. 

This is now her narrow home, 
And the dead require no light. 

CHILD. 

Icy now is her small cheek. 
And her hands are folded meek ; 

If she could her lips unclasp, 
I am sure that she could speak. 

MOTHER, 

Baby's mind is far too weak 
Death's great mysteries to grasp. 

CHILD. 

Why, this cold and wintry day. 

Do they take her far away 
In that little snow-white hearse, 

With the horses white and gay ? 



128 CYPRESS LEAVES. 



MOTHER. 

Soon we all must go this way ; 

Little May must watch and pray. 
Dust to dust was Adam's curse ; 

Jesus is the living way. 

CHILD. 

Why that deep hole in the ground ? 

Why these rough men standing round ? 
See ! they lower her body down ; 

Oh, the rough spades cruel sound ! 

MOTHER. 

Here they'll raise a little mound, 
And the leaves shall fall around ; 

But the dead shall rise again. 
And the loved and lost be found. 

CHILD. 

Oh, my angel sister, come ! 

Burst again the silent tomb ! 
Throw away that snow-white shroud. 

Leave the cemetery's gloom ! 

Now my sister Birdie's gone. 

And the night is coming on. 
Oh, the lonely, lonely night ! 

How I wish the day would dawn ! 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 129 



MOTHER. 

Lift her toys from off the floor, 
I'ut them in her little drawer. 

With her picture-books and doll ; 
She will never need them more. 

CHILD. 

In her drawer I've put them all. 
Save the shoes that Daisy wore. 

MOTHER. 

Put her little shoes away. 

And her dress so bright and gay. 
With the pretty things she wore 

On that happy Christmas day. 

CHILD. 

Yes, her little shoes we'll save. 
And the dress old Santa gave ; 

But the golden chain she wore. 
They have buried in her grave. 

Daisy's death I did deplore. 

Weeping till my eyes were sore ; 

But when sister Birdie went. 
Then my eyes could weep no more. 



130 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Why it was I cannot tell, 

Birdie I loved just as well , 
But a numbness strange and still 

On my broken spirit fell. 

Now it seems she did not die. 

But was lifted up on high, 
And with little sister Dell 

Sings above the bright blue sky. 

MOTHER. 

In that land where falls no night 
We shall clasp our soul's delight. 

Free from parting, pain, and death. 
Shining with the angels bright. 

Before the summer breeze the tall grass waves. 
And often as we sit beside their graves 
We speak of all the tender words they said, 
And trim the flowers upon their lowly bed. 

And clover tops about the graves are seen. 
Like pearls shining in a sea of green. 
While Mamie gathers from the grass around 
A small bouquet to grace each little mound ; 

And water in her gentle hands will bear 
To sprinkle all the sweet flowers blooming there 
Then heaving from her lonely heart a sigh. 
In parting wave her hand and say good-by. 



CYPRESS LEA VES 131 

It was a strange coincidence that Just as the doctor 
concluded these words the band struck up the " Hun- 
garian Rhapsody/' whose lively strains carried our 
minds as by magic from the gloomy thoughts to which 
the story had given rise. The delicious harmony held 
us spellbound for the time, but when the last notes 
had died away Mrs. Clifton expressed a desire to take 
a walk through the hotel. I immediately offered her 
my arm, and the doctor and my wife followed, while 
the children led the van. We strolled through the 
spacious rotunda into the great ball-room, and from 
thence into the reception-room and parlors. The 
ladies were greatly pleased with the furniture, and 
especially with the great variety and beauty of the 
willow-ware. Eeturning to the rotunda, we took a 
peep into the great dining-room, and then wandered 
out upon the veranda at the north side of the hotel. 
Here we witnessed a game of lawn-tennis played 
by some young people whom we took to be guests of 
the hotel. We also had a fine view of Crystal Bay. 

The children wanted to take a walk down to the 
water to gather some shells just as the doctor gave me 
a cigar and lit one himself ; so the ladies said they 
would accompany the children while we enjoyed our 
smoke. As we became seated the doctor took a letter 
from his side-pocket. '' Ah yes !" he exclaimed, 
" here is a copy of Birdie's letter, which she wrote to 
her cousin May in Beloit, Kansas, just a week before 



132 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

she died. My niece was kind enough to furnish me 
with this copy during our short visit to that town 
some months ago. I also have here some otlier 
samples of her compositions of earlier date, which I 
have carefully preserved." " If there is nothing of a 
private nature in the letter or compositions, doctor," 
I remarked, " it would give me much pleasure to hear 
them read." "Nothing whatever," he exclaimed, 
and he read as follows : 

BIRDIE'S LAST LETTER. 

Minneapolis, Minn., December 23, 1884. 
Deae Cousin May : I received a letter from you 
a long time before I was sick, and have not answered 
it yet. We are all well [here is a blot], and hope 
this may find you the same. Papa received a letter 
from Uncle James to-day saying he Avas coming the 
first of the year, and so wouldn't it be nice to have 
you come along with him ? You ask him, and see 
if you can't come. We would have lots of fun. 
Try and come, won't you ? AV^rite and tell me what 
you get for Christmas. I am all better again, but 
I ''have no wool on the top of my head, just the 
place where the wool ought to grow. "' I am taking 
lessons in oil painting now. I painted a cluster 
of apple blossoms. I just got them home from the 
store to-day. They were being framed. I am pamt- 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 133 

ing quite a large landscape now. It is not finished 
yet, I have got the nicest old cat. She sleeps on 
the lounge. Papa gave me the j^resent of a bed- 
room set of furniture. It is j^ainted a light blue, and 
decorated with flowers. There is a bedstead, wash- 
stand, dressing-case, three chairs and a rocker, towel- 
rack, and little table. Then I have a chamber set for 
the washstand — I don't know the right name, but I 
guess chamber-set is what they call it. Mine is blue 
and decorated, and mamma has a set in pink and deco- 
rated. I have got the nicest doll. I got it when I 
was sick. It has hair that you can comb. Its head 
moves all around, and it is jointed all over. I can 
wash it with soap and water and it won't hurt it. 
But now won't you try and come along with your 
papa ? May, we would have just lots of fun. Well, I 
don't know what else to write. Do try and come. 
May. Write soon — good-by. 

Your cousin 

Birdie. 

" These samples of her composition," said the doctor, 
"■ were written at school about a year before she died, 
and at about the age of twelve years. There are four 
of them, each very short, and I give them just as 
I found them m her book after her death. These are 
invaluable to us as showing the beauty of her thoughts 
and original genius at that age." 



134 CYPRESS LEA VES. 



THE WHITE KITTEN. 

Etta's papa and mamma were coming home this 
very evening, and Etta was making things look home- 
like and cheerful. She thought she would go down 
to the meadow and see if she could find any ripe 
strawberries, but not a one could she find. Eeturn- 
ing, she saw her old cat and followed her to the barn- 
loft, where she thought she must have kittens. She 
looked down into the bin, and there, sure enough, were 
four kittens, and one pure white. Tlien she jumped 
into the bin, but the fioor, not being solid, broke, and 
she fell through into the second bin, and the boards fell 
on her and bruised her so severely that she could not 
move. When her father and mother came home they 
wondered where Etta was. She could not be found 
the whole night, but in the morning she was found in 
the bottom of the bin. Her father carried her to the 
house, and they were glad on finding the child. This 
family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, Etta, 
George, and Hannah the servant. 

TPIE TANGLED SKEIN. 

Little Ella was winding a small skein of thread one 
day, and because the thread got tangled a little she 
Avas angry and said, " I never can get this out, if I 
should work at it forever. I do wish mother would 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 135 

wind this herself, or get me another that is on the 
shelf." But her brother, who heard these words, said, 
*'Let me help you, and don^t be angry-; I had just 
such trouble with my ball the other day." Then they 
both got at it, and the tangle was soon out. 

SKETCH OF WASHIJ^'GTON IRVING. 

This great author that I am going to tell you about 
was born in New York City, April 3d, 1783. He was 
the youngest son of William Irving. At the age of 
sixteen years he left school, and in 1802, at the age of 
nineteen years, he wrote a paper for his brother, who 
published it. As he did not wish any one to know 
who wrote it, he signed his name Jonathan Oldstyle. 
This man spent about twenty-five years of his life 
abroad. In 1804 he made his first trip to Europe, and 
stayed two years. He returned to New York in 1806, 
and went into business with his two brothers. In 
1810 he wrote the " History of New York. " When he 
made his second trip to Europe he stayed seventeen 
years. The year 1820 he spent in Paris, then returned 
to New Yoi'k again. He made three trips to Europe 
altogether. During his second trip, while he was in 
England, he heard that his two brothers had failed 
and lost their money, and all that he had invested 
also. He had nothing to depend on then but his 
Avritings. The first book he wrote was '' Salmagundi," 



136 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

and the last one lie wrote was the " Life of Washing- 
ton/^ which he wrote in the year of his death. Many 
of his books were written at his Sunnyside residence, 
two miles from Tarrytown. 

This great man spent his last days at his Sunnyside 
residence, where he died November 28th^ 1854, with 
disease of the heart. He Avas seventy-six years old 
when he died. Thus ends the life of this well-known 
author, Washington Irving. 

(Signed) Birdie. 

EIP VAN WINKLE. 

At the foot of the Catskill Mountains, in the State of 
New York, in a little village lived an old man by the 
name of Eip Van Winkle. He Avandered up the 
mountain Avith his dog and gun. As it Avas beginning 
to get dark he saAV an old man coming up the moun- 
tain Avith a barrel on his back. Rip went doAvn to 
help him, and they Avent up the mountain together, 
where they found a lot of little men playing ninepins. 
Here Rip fell asleep, and Avhen he aAvoke he found 
that his gun and dog Avere both gone. As he began 
to Avander toward the village again everything Avas 
changed. Even his beard had groAvn a foot long_. 
Everybody looked at him in amazement. When he 
Avent up to the inn and asked for his old friends, the 
people said they were all dead, and some had been 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 137 

killed in the war. Rip now began to think the world 
and he were both bewitched. When he asked where 
dame Van Winkle was, they all said that she died in a 
fit of passion at a peddler. Then all at once an old 
woman came forward and said that she remembered old 
Eip. Then a young woman stepped np and said her 
name was Judith Gardner, and that she was Eip Van 
Winkle's daughter. So Eip Avent to his daughter's 
home, and stayed there as long as he lived. 

" Here," said the doctor, producing another sheet 
of paper, ^'r.re some verses which I found in her own 
handwriting after her death. She evidently copied 
them from some book, but I remain as yet ignorant 
of the real author. This is sufficient to show her taste 
for that kind of composition. Some of the words were 
prophetic, and others seem to us now like an admoni- 
tion from the grave." 

Be kind to each other. Speak gently ; oh, never 
Let coldness divide you, harsh words, or a frown. 

Tlie day cometh near when the household must sever ; 
On home's pleasant sunshine the night will fall down. 

Plant love's holy blossoms in memory's furrows. 
Your smiles cannot follow o'er mountain and wave ; 

But the thought of kind deeds will be balm for your 
sorrows 
What time you are parted by care or the grave. 



138 CYPEESS LEAVES. 

Eeplacing the papers. Dr. Clifton took from his 
pocket a beautiful little book with decorated cover 
and gilt edges. " This," said the doctor, " is Birdie's 
tiutograph album. It contains some precious little 
gems of thought, and shows in what esteem she was 
held among her friends. But I see the ladies and chil- 
dren are returning, so I had better not tire you by read- 
ing them."' I begged him to read the contributions, 
and thought he would have plenty of time to do so before 
they arrived, Judging from the rate at which they were 
walking. " Very well," he replied, and began with 
this one : 

To BiEDiE : 

Life is a volume 

From, youth to old age ; 
Each year forms a chapter, 

Each day is a page. 
May none be more charming, 

More womanly true 
Than that pure and noble 

Sketched yearly by you. 
September 8, 1882. L. C. L. 

To BiKDiE : 

Pure, spotless, white and undefiled 

This album's free from stain ; 
So may the tablets of thy heart 
Chaste ever thus remain. 
September 22, 1882. T, Jamisok". 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 139 



To Birdie : ^ 

May you live to grow as good a woman as you are a 
sweet and lovely child. 

Mrs. Billingto]S'. 

To Birdie : 

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, 

Old time is still a-flyiug, 
And this same flower that smiles to-day 

To-morrow may be dying. 

Mrs. E. G. Hemphill. 

To Birdie : 

Shun delays, they breed remorse ; 

Take thy time while time is lent thee ; 
Creeping snails have weakest force — 

Fly their fault, lest thou repent thee. 
Good is best when soonest wrought ; 
Lingered labors come to naught. 
March 31, 1883. G. E. Hemphill. 

As the doctor concluded these gems little Mamie 
bounded into his arms, and Mrs. Clifton and my family 
joined us on the veranda. They had not been very 
successful in gathering shells, but the children had 
secured quite a lot of very pretty pebbles. I looked 
at my watch, and remarked that it was Just thirty 
minutes to train time, and proposed wo go into the 



140 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

dining-room for a clisli of ice cream before going to 
the station. The ladies said that that was an invita- 
tion which they had never yet declined ; and as the 
children were already on their way, the doctor and I 
followed. Some twenty minutes were employed in 
eating the cream and cake, and in conversation, when 
we arose and proceeded quite briskly down through 
the park to the station. We had only a few minutes 
to wait at the depot till we saw the train coming. 
AVhen we boarded the train and had found seats for 
the ladies and children, the doctor and I sat down in 
the seat directly behind them. " Well, Dr. Clifton," 
I said, after we Avere seated, " we have certainly had 
a very pleasant day together, and I am sure that all 
through my future life this day will be a green spot in 
my memory. I am sure that my wife and I have both 
enjoyed your story, plaintive and mournful though it 
has been. But have you entirely finished ? Is there 
not something else you would like to add in reference 
to this family tragedy ? Is there not yet some tender 
sentiment unexpressed ?" " Alas I" said the doctor, 
" I might give expression to my grief in a million 
different forms, and yet find that I have but repeated 
sentiments that have been uttered centuries ago. The 
poets have sung their sorrows in all ages, and there 
are no new forms of expression left. Grief is as old 
as the race. And perhaps, after all, it were better 
had this sad story never been told ; but I will add this 



(CYPRESS LEAVES. 141 

as part of my own experience, and thereafter shall 

be silent as the grave in which onr children sleep 
until my dust shall minarle with theirs/' 



WANTED— A PANACEA FOR GRIEF. 

When tender hearts unused to grief are break'n. 

And eyes are wet, 
And cruel death with ruthless hand has taken 

The household pet. 
Oh, in that dreadful hour of pain and anguish 

Where can we turn 
To find a solace for the hearts that languish 

And tears that burn ? 
Can prayer to God and endless supplication 

One comfort give, 
Or faith in Christ restore the lost relation. 

And bid it live ? 

I've sought for comfort in the sacred Scripture, 

And prayed between, 
But not a voice have heard nor even a whisper 

From the unseen. 
Across that silent stream there come no voices, 

No wordings o'er, 
Assuring us the lost one now rejoices 

On Canaan's shore. 



142 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

I've mingled in the giddy world of pleasure 

To ease my pains. 
But all in vain — the grief for my lost treasure 

With me remains. 
I've cursed the fate that took my darlings from me, 

I've torn my hair, 
And wept and groaned till grief has overcome me 

In wild des]3air ; 
But still no comfort have I found in cursing 

Or bitter moan — 
I may as well he silent still and nursing 

My grief alone. 
I've sought within the gilded bar-room's glitter 

And flowing bowl 
For one sweet draught to charm away the bitter 

That fills my soul ; 
But not a drop of human hands' distilling 

Can peace impart 
Or to oblivion sink the grief that's killing 

This aching heart, 
I've listened to the summer night winds sighing 

So soft and low. 
As if their spirits hovered near me trying 

To let me know ; 
And often in my sleep, while silent dreaming, 

I've seen their forms 
Sweep o'er my couch with garments brightly streaming 

And outstretched arms : 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 143 

Then felt a little hand so warm and tender 

Compress my own, 
And seen two loving arms both white and slender 

About me thrown. 
I've felt the sweep of long and silken lashes 

Across my face, 
Till my full soul seemed burning into ashes 

In that embrace. 
At midnight when the sky was oversprinkled 

With eyes of light, 
I've numbered every little star that twinkled 

So calmly bright. 
And thought of all the cycles o'er them breaking 

In endless flow. 
And tried to catch the music they were making 

As on they go. 
I've wondered if those brilliants far off shining 

In depths so blue 
Could be the souls for whom my heart is pining 

There i^eeping through. 
Oh, can we e'er forget the arms so tender 

Our necks entwine, 
Or unto dark oblivion surrender 

Their love divine ? 
That giief can find no panacea seems a pity 

On sea or shore, 
Till death has laid us in the silent city 

To weep no more. 



144 (J Y PRESS LEAVES. 

We had already reached the station at Minneapolis 
when the doctor concluded his extraordinary statement. 
As he arose I grasped him warmly by the hand, saying, 
" Dr. Clifton, hereafter I shall claim you as my dearest 
friend, and shall ask the privilege of being a friend to 
you ; and I shall feel offended if you don't bring your 
wife and little girl over to St. Paul to-morrow and 
pay us a visit." The children kissed each other. The 
ladies embraced each other, then kissed the children. 
The doctor kissed May, and I kissed Mamie. My 
wife grasped Dr. Clifton's hand, and passing my hand 
between them, I caught Mrs, Clifton's hand. ''I have 
a great notion not to let any of you get off the train," 
said my wife ; " but I have got your wife's promise to 
bring Mamie over to my house to-morrow, and of 
course you will come along." The doctor consented. 
^•' We will try and make you forget the sad history of 
your past life, doctor," remarked my wife. The doctor 
looked seriously into her eyes for a moment, and then 
gave expression to the following exquisite sentiment, 
which if he had died then, and never sjioken another 
word, would give him a title to immortality. 

CONCLUSION. 

The spring has come, and birds and flowers 

On every hand are seen, 
While o'er our darlings little graves 

The grass waves rich and green ; 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 145 

And many flowers of sweet perfume 

Adorn that sacred spot, 
But those who sleep beneath the flowers 

Can never be forgot, 

' Good-by," said the doctor ; " I will see you later/^ 
" Not later than to-morrow," replied my wife. " Good- 
by/' said Mrs. Clifton, as she left the car. " Good- 
by," shouted Mamie out on the platform. The train 
was already moving. We all said good-by and waved 
our handkerchiefs, and the children threw kisses as 
we passed out of sight. Since the day we spent at 
Minnetonka together Dr. Clifton and his family have 
been so much with us and we have been so often with 
them that we sometimes wonder if the whole story is 
not a dream, and if we are not one family instead of 
two. 



JUYEiq'ILE POEMS. 



The following collection of verses were written 
from 1867 to 1869, or immediately after leaving 
home, and before I had begun the study of medi- 
cine. Though passionately fond of poetry, I had 
been guiltless of any attempt at original verse until 
I was nineteen years of age. After I had attained 
my twenty-first year my muse was silent for fifteen 
years, until a great tragedy in my family, similar 
to that embodied in the foregoing pages, produced 
such a profound impression on my mind that I soon 
found myself haunted by the melancholy muse. I 
have endeavored to give the following verses as 
originally written, without revision, and with but few 
changes. They are appended to this volume after 
much hesitation, and I hope that the age at which 
they were produced will be sufficient excuse for the 
infinite metrical and grammatical imperfections which 
'they contain. 

Most sincerely. 

The Author. 



148 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

WKITE ME A LETTEE FROM HOME. < 

(To my Mother.) 

KiTTANNING, PA., 1867. 

"What strange anxiety and fear 

Doth vex the absent one. 
When in suspense he waits to hear 

From those he loves at home ! 

He often waits Avith longing eyes 

A letter from his home, 
And daily to the office flies. 

Inquiring, "Is there none ?" 

Oh, how his bosom swells with joy 

When he a letter finds ! 
He quickly doth the seal destroy. 

And read the welcome lines. 

Like oasis in desert's waste. 
With its refreshing springs, 

Eefreshment to the Aveary breast 
A letter often brings. 

Oh, why delay a single day 

An answer to my last. 
And throw it carelessly away. 

Like something of the past ? 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 149 

Would you that I should e'er forget 

My home and kindred dear ? 
Oh, then, do you '"^ forget me not/^ 

But let me often hear. 

A little note, however small. 

To tell that you are well. 
Will soon recall my comforts all. 

And all my troubles quell. 

MAID AND MODESTY. 

KiTTANNING, Pa. , 1867. 
MAID. 

Hail ! Modesty, 

With brow so fair ; 
Whence comest thou. 

With flowing hair ? 

MODESTY. 

From Helen's bower 

Of chastity. 
Where blooms the flower 

Of purity. 

MAID. 

Dost find it hard 
To leave thy home. 



150 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Without a guard 
This world to roam ? 

MODESTY. 

I leave my bower 
At her request. 

To plant a flower 
In thy young breast. 

MAID. 

And hopest thou 
To dwell within 

This wicked breast 
And heart of sin ? 

MODESTY. 

My flower can cleanse 
Thy heart of sin. 

If thou wilt gi-ant 
A place therein. 

MAID. 

Come, all my heart 
I give to thee. 

If thou wilt be 
My Modesty. 



C7PBES8 LEAVES. 151 



MODESTY. 

I will consent 

Thy heart to bless ; 
Thy face shall shine 

With loveliness. 



TO J. 0. S., ON HEARING OF HIS MAREIAGE. 

Allegheny, Pa., 1867. 

Within thy bosom may she rest. 
And make thy life forever blest ; 
And may she all her heart reveal. 
And be to thee as true as steel. 

THOUGHTS OF HOME. 

KiTTANNING, Pa., 1867. 

'Tis Saturday night ; the cares of the day 
With setting sun have passed away. 
My noisy comrades one by one 
Retire from the sitting-room. 
The lamp before me dimly burns. 
And undisturbed my memory turns 

To reflect on — what ? Why, what seems best : 
1 think of that place forever blest, 



152 CYPEESS LEAVES. 

Where oft the memory loves to roam ; 
And musing on my distant home, 
I see my father, my aged sire, 
Sitting alone by the evening fire. 

How very solemn and sad he looks ! 
Seeming to cull from a few old books 
Some words of comfort. I also see 
The dearest of all on earth to me — 
My mother. Oh, how I long to rest 
My weary head on my mother's breast. 

And catch once more, as in days gone by, , 
The gentle glance of my mother's eye ! 
And how I'd love once more to hear 
The voice of brother or sister dear ! 
But, alas ! they nearly all are gone. 
And only the youngest remain at home ; 
And now I wonder this Satiirday night 
If the broken circle shall ever unite. 

N. B. — 'Tis said that Saturday night is known 

As the night that brings all stragglers home. 

SOME EAELY EXPEEIENCE. 

KiTTANNING, Pa., 18G7. 

All honor to the man of truth 

Whose word you never can mistrust ; 



CTPRESS LEAVES. 153 

What lie has pledged he will rededm, 
Because his conscience says he must. 

Oh, lend me language to express 
My strong disdain and burning ire 

For him whom I must now confess 
Has been a base and cruel liar. 

One of a thousand you may find 

AVhose word will honor as his bond ; 

But you should ever bear in mind 
That honest men are rarely found. 

Oh, give me, then, the man of truth, 
AVho would not dare a falsehood tell ; 

He's worth a thousand promisers. 
Who promise what they ne'er fulfil, 

TEMPERANCE IMPROMPTU. 

Some virtues from the angels spring, 

Or take their origin with God. 
Intemperance is the devil's sting. 

Hell-born among the demon crowd. 

TO ADELIA. 

Allegheny, Pa., 1867. 
'Tis sweet to think of those we love 
While in this desert world we rove ; 
They make us think of heaven above, 

Adelia. 



154 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Oft in my deep imaginings 

A form before my memory springs. 

As though it came on angel wings, 

Adelia. 

She comes with smiles so bright and sweet, 

A voice with accents so complete 

As makes each pulse with rapture beat, 

Adelia. 

Her soft white hands are filled with flowers, 
AVhich, gathered from her floral bowers. 
Will brighten up my darkest hours, 

Adelia. 

She bears a meek and humble mind, 
With manners pure and thoughts refined. 
And heart replete with wishes kind, 

Adelia. 

What maiden, then, do I thus view, 
With smile so sweet and heart so true ? 
^Tis surely no one else but you, 

Adelia. 

DUST TO DUST. 

Cadiz, O., 1868. 

The funeral bell is tolling. Its deej) 
And solemn voice comes rolling mornfuUy 
On the evening air. Its voice is one 



CTPBES8 LEAVES. 155 

Of awe. It speaks in tones sublime, and tells 
Of one whom lingering illness had brought 
Low, and Avho now lies in yonder cottage 
Cold in death. On the hour the villagers 
Assemble, and each his parting tribute 
Pays to the departed. For this is all 
That man for brother man can do, when 
In life's broad battle-field he falls. A look. 
And then, perchance, a sigh ; he passeth on, 
While others do the same. Now forms the long 
Procession. Hark ! on the rough pavement 
I hear the sound of many feet in slow 
And solemn tread. A funeral train is 
Moving on. The grave, which, like devouring 
Fire, is never satisfied, is yawning 
On the hill. The spot is reached, and now 
The living lower the dead to his last 
Resting-place, while many stand around 
With heads uncovered. They linger a moment 
To hear the rough clods fall harshly on the 
Coffin-lid, while tender hearts of friends are 
Crushed, and tears flow like summer showers. 
They turn away and leave the scene. And from 
Their minds, as leaves in autumn fall, so dies 
His memory away. So die we all. 
Ko warning take we, as anon we see 
Our brothers fall, but live as though there 
Was no death, and all of life was here. 



156 (fYPRESS LEAVES. 



SUMMEE'S ADVENT. 

Cadiz, O., 1868. 

The joyful ring of merry sjjriug 

Forsakes the list'ning ear. 
And scorching rays of sunny days 

Proclaims the summer here. 

Ten thousand sheep, as if to sleep. 

Lie down in pastures green. 
While heavy kine, in sweet recline. 

On thousand hills are seen. 

The robin's song was still so long 

Within the pleasant vale, 
I now rejoice because its voice 

Comes in the forest's wail. 

In wild wood's breast 'tis loath to rest 

Its carol wild and free, 
Till in the west the sun's bright crest 

Gold gilds the forest tree. 

So great the love of God above. 

He hears the raven's cry ; 
No sparrow small to earth can fall 

His care will not dcscrv. 



CTPRESS LEAVES. Ibl 

His sun benign He makes to shine 

On both the good and ill, 
And sends again the pleasant rain 

On just and unjust still. 

The flowers gay with much display 

Assume their brightest hue, 
And deem it meet with odors sweet 

To greet their lovers true. 

Awake from sleeji ! Go forth to reaj) ! 

Ye men who till the land ; 
The sun is bright, the fields are white. 

The harvest is at hand. 

While it is day do not delay 
To fill your barns with grain. 

For summer flies and wintry skies 
Will soon be here again. 

So now to-day I'll not delay 
With truth the mind to store ; 

Then wintry age may storm and rage. 
But 111 not fear his roar. 

LINES WRITTEN IN A PHOTOGEAPH ALBUM. 

BuTLEK, Pa., 1868. 

Now all who desire to see something new 
Have a right to inspect and to criticise too ; 



158 CTPBESS LEAVES. 

But you must remember before you look 
That you are expected to add to this book ; 
And in judging of faces don't be too free, 
Unless you leave yours for others to see. 

TEIALS OF A YOUNG CONVERT. 

FreeporT, Pa., 1868. 

My mind is oft excited, 
My heart is oft delighted, 
But now my soul's benighted, 

I know not why ; 
As one with dreams affrighted 

I weep and sigh. 

When I on knees am bending, 
While grief my heart is rending. 
Oh, can I then be sending 

My fervent prayer 
To Him whom I'm offending 

With every tear ? 

Shall I to God complain ? 
Will He my prayer disdain ? 
And was it said in vain. 

Seek ye my face ? 
And can I not obtain 

Sufficient grace ? 



CYPRESS LEAVES. ^59 



The God of nature knows 
That I have sought repose 
And prayed my eyes might close 

In their last sleep. 
That I might be of those 

Who cease to weep. 

But why should I despair, 
With soul depressed with care. 
And think my earnest prayer 

Is all in vain. 
Since God's own Son did bear 

My guilty stain ? 

Lord, I will trust in Thee, 
Whate'er my doubts may be. 
For this is Thy decree. 

To mortals given : 
Through trouble they should see 

The path to heaven. 

TO BESSIE. 

BuTLKR, Pa., 1868. 
Lovely Bessie, of perfect grace. 
Turn again on me thy face, 
And let the poet's pen proclaim 
The wondrous beauties of the same. 
Within my heart the passion fires 
A song of holy love inspires. 



160 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

ni pour upon Euterpe's strings 
A stream of passion while she sings ; 
And while my eyes behold thy charms, 
I'll fold thee close within my arms. 
Then while our hearts together beat, 
We'll sweetest words of love repeat ; 
I'll drink sweet rapture from thine eyes. 
While heart to heart therein replies. 
And rosy lips with nectar sweet 
Shall oft in fond affection meet, 
AVhile heart to heart impatient calls. 
And longs to break its prison walls. 
But not on savage vengeance bent. 
Nor yet to kill are they intent ; 
But that they might their strength unite. 
Till lips shall melt and bosoms plight. 
And who shall say 'tis not discreet 
To clasp and kiss when lovers meet ? 
For all the joy of heaven above 
We find expressed in one word — love. 

THE LAST DAY. 

Pittsburg, Pa., 1868. 

Hark ! reverberative thunders 

Eoll along the azure arch. 
Bursting forth in awful numbers. 

Like an earthquake on its march. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 161 

Like the sound of falling forests. 
Like the thunder tramp and rattle 

Of ten thousand mighty horsemen 
As they onward rush to battle. 

Men in every place and station 

Stand with hands uplifted high. 
Horror-stricken, pale their faces, 

Gazing upward to the sky. 

^Tis the thunderbolt of heaven, 

^Tis an army's shout we hear ; 
^Tis the sound of battle cannon 

Bursting on the startled ear. 

No ; 'tis Gabriel's signal trumpet. 
From the vault of heaven hurled. 

Sounding loud the day of judgment 
Round this sleeping, wicked world. 

Not alone the earth he shaketh, 

But the heavens also quake ; 
Now the light from earth he taketh. 

Now the stars the heavens forsake. 

All is changed as flash of lightning 

From the east to west doth fly ; 
Mortal man immortal turneth 

In the twinklino- of an eve. 



162 CYPRESS LEA VE8. 

Calls lie loud to come to judgment. 
All the dead dotli quickly rise. 

And from earth we see them lifted. 
Where before appeared the skies. 

Judgment set ; the books are opened. 
And, according to their deeds. 

Men and angels Christ rewardeth. 
As the judgment day proceeds. 

Help, God ! that I may so live 

That, when called before Thy throne, 

Thou mayst say, " Oh, good and faithful V 
And pronounce my work ''well done.'' 

HOPE. 

{Written by request.) 

Ann Arbok, Mich., 1868. 

Named among the blessed three, 
Hope is next to Charity ; 
Hope, that longs for brighter rays, 
Hope, that waits for happier days. 
When the world is all ablaze 

We shall see, 
Standing with the blessed three, 
Hope embracing Charity. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 163 

Toiling on from day to clay. 
Fast our courage wears away ; 
But when courage is inflamed. 
And our valor may be blamed, 
Hope, that maketh not ashamed. 

Is our stay. 
Giving strength to help us on. 
When despair has quite begun. 

One her smiling infant gave 
To the cold and silent gi-ave ; 
Torn away at death's alarms 
From a loving mother's arms. 
She her babe of many charms 

Could not save ; 
But yet on heaven's golden street 
She hopes her blessed child to meet. 

Let us live in hope to-day, 
" While there's life there's hope," they say. 
Soldiers hope for freedom's band. 
Sailors hope to see the land. 
Christians hope in heaven to stand 

In array. 
We shall see the blessed three, 
Hope embracing Charity. 



164 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

TO CARRIE. 

Ann Arbok, Mich., 1868. 

Think of me in pleasure's day. 
Think of me when far away ; 
When you bow your knee to pray. 
Oh, Carrie, think of me ! 

TRIALS OF A BOOK-AGENT. 

Mount Chestnut, Pa., 1868. 

The first of September 
I long shall remember 

As a day of much grief and vexation ; 
Let thick darkness hide it. 
And blackness affright it, 

And moanings be heard in creation. 

At breakfast that morning 
I got timely warning 

That half my day's labor was lost. 
I might then record it 
As toil unrewarded. 

Avoiding the sweat it would cost. 

Of all a jest making. 
My carpet sack taking, 

Away on my journey I press. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 165 

Determined to sell 

What saves men from hell — 

The Bible and Pilgrim's Progress. 

Not far I'd proceeded. 
With warnings unheeded. 

When clouds in the distance appear. 
And low thunders moaning. 
Like volcanoes groaning, 

Proclaim that the rain-cloud is near. 

But onward proceeding. 
These tokens unheeding. 

My books to the peasants I showed ; 
I strove hard to sell them. 
And often would tell them 

Such books were ne'er carried that road. 

With both eyes wide open. 
And mouth you could lope in. 

Their merits the farmers would praise ; 
They said they should buy them. 
They'd like much to try them. 

But then d n the cent they could raise. 

I left without selling. 

And now there's no telling 

Which one of these roads is the cleanest. 



166 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

I swore "by the nation," 
In all the creation, 

Of mean places this was the meanest. 

The raindrops are falling, 
And thunders appalling 

Roll terribly now overhead ; 
On all sides surrounding 
There seemed trumpets sounding' 

Sufficient to waken the dead. 

Fierce lightnings now flashing, 

Their forked tongues dashing- 
Seemed for my life's blood to be sent ; 

Eain torrents are pouring, 

The tempest is roaring, 

The trees by the strong blast are bent. 

That day I was slaughtered. 
My stock was all watered, 

I returned to my last night's retreat. 
My books after drying, 
I went to bed sighing, 

Life's trials each traveller must meet. 



GYPJiE8S LEAVES. Kl*? 



TO BLANCHE. 

{On complaining that she couldn't sleep because her lover had 
left her.) 

Ann Arbor, Mich., 1869. 

Sigh not for the lover that's fled. 
Let thy heart in sweet solitude rest ; 

May the angels watch over thy bed. 
And thine eyes with sweet slumber be blest. 



TO ALLIE. 

Prospect, Pa., 1868. 

I kno"\t^ a little village girl 

With wealth of raven hair. 
With azure eyes and teeth of pearl. 

So modest and so fair. 

With lips that tempt the village beaux. 

My gentle Alice Carr, 
And breath as fragrant as the rose. 

You are too shy by far. 

To see your smiling eyes is joy. 

To press your hand is bliss ; 
But why should you deny your boy 

The rapture of a kiss ? 



168 CYPRESS LEAVES. 

Perhaps this little maiden thought 
To play the sly coquette ; 

But prudent hearts will ne'er be caught 
In such a doubtful net. 

■'Tis true, in half a joking way 
You promised to be mine ; 

But now your actions seem to say, 
Your proffers I decline. 

When dreaming of your sunny face 
I bought this golden band ; 

But how can I the jewel place 
Upon your lily hand ? 

To anchor raise, to sails unfurl. 

It grieves me, I confess ; 
But I can never wed the girl 

Whose lips I dare not press. 

A wooden man you should adore, 
AVith heart as cold as lead ; 

And he can occupy the floor. 
While you enjoy the bed. 



CYPRESS LEAVES. 169 



TO MY SISTER— CALL IIER ADDIE. 

Ann Akbor, Mich., 1869. 

Yes ; call the baby Acldie May, 

That name I used to love ; 
It stirs the pulses of my soul 

Like music from above. 

That name recalls the memories 
Of loves that now arc dead ; 

Of soft brown eyes that looked in mine, 
And lips of cherry red. 

I loved a little girl at school. 

Her name was Addie Ray ; 
And Addie was my partner then, 

No matter what the play. 

At blackboard when we did our sums 

She stood close by my side. 
And when she couldn't get hers done, 

The figures I supplied. 

And when the teacher's back was turned. 

And no one else could see, 
Slie wrote love letters on the slate. 

And held it up to me. 



170 CYPRESS LEAVES. 



In class, when she forgot the rule, 

I always sat so near, 
I held my book before my mouth 

And told it to her ear. 

She waited at the garden gate 

For me to come along, 
And often while we lingered there 

AVould sing a little song. 

I carried Addie's books to school. 

And when the day was wet 
The way we held tlie parachute 

I never shall forget. 

Alas ! alas ! for boyish dreams 
And school-days' happy hours. 

And for the little brown-eyed girl 
With cheeks and lips like flowers. 

The school broke up, the girls and boys 

Are scattered far away, 
And yet I never can forget 

My love for Addie Eay. 



